October 5th
by MollyMittens
Summary: Will Arnold's parents FINALLY return after all these years? Read on to find out!
1. 5:30 AM

5:30 AM October 5th.

It's early morning. The predawn light starts creeping over us, giving our once starry world a faint glow of opaque blue. I turned slightly, clamping the covers with my hands to keep the warm over us as I glanced at my watch.

I hate getting up this early, but ever since I've settled into a sober motherhood my body won't let me sleep in. Not even on weekends. I've tried to, but all my being forces me up and before I can protest it I find myself tending to Little Phil and making coffee.

"Might as well bang out that column," I said to myself as I slowly rise to stretch out the kinks and crinkles of my tired back. It only takes me a few moments to realize that Arnold and our son is nowhere to be seen. In a nanosecond I'm out of bed fully robed and ready to find them, somehow convinced that they had been taken away.

"Should I get coffee first? What about Big Phil and Gertie? Should I tell them? Oh no! What if they're gone too? Where could they be!" my mind continues to race like mad, hands whipping about crazily when I notice...he's sitting in the rocking chair with Little Phil. Trying not to laugh. Arnold's hand covers his gaping smile that's slicked across his face. Our son matches his father in his sans-giggle effort, though looking like he might crack any moment.

"Mommy funny," he lets out, face red with laughter, "Pig-gin. Mommy Pig-gin." He rocks back into his father who finally chuckles as I try to think of what to say, the moment of panic escaping me with no plausible reason for this. I just stand there, blanked faced.

"So Crazy Lady, are you going clue us in now? Or is there an act two of the show?" Arnold asks, laughing again.

"Oh yea...this is real funny. Mommy wakes up to an empty bed and panics that someone took you. Yea, a total knee-slapper there."

"Helga, why would someone take us?"

"I don't know! It's just what I felt ok! And why are you up this early? You two are never up now!" LP pointed to something. A tattered book with a faded cover, frayed edges, and worn pages, some painted in what used to be vibrant watercolors with pencil outlines. I wedge myself between my boys, taking our son into my lap as I looked at it more clearly. It was The Journal.

"Oh...learning about Grandpa Miles are we?"

"Yea, I thought it's about time he did. Plus, I think it's important that knows from an early age that grandpa is his Great Grandpa. He should know as much family history as we can tell. Even yours!"

"Not so sure about that one Arnoldo. All we can get out of my gene pool are swimmers that should have stayed dry!"

"Hey," Arnold said as he picked our son and started toward the hall, "I thought you and your sister made up." I sighed. It was true. Since the last drama-filled dinner we had made a point to chat every now and then. Sometimes we even ate out, catching up old-style over coffee and pancakes. I hate to admit it, but it's kinda fun. Now that she sees Blowhard Bob the same way I do we've connected on a deeper level that's quite nice, and...Olga can be kinda tolerable. OK...so... it's more then that. But give me a moment to accept it will ya? I grew up thinking we'd never see eye-to-eye. Let it sink in a little.

"Yes, we have. But I'm pretty sure the line stops there."

"If you say so." We got to the kitchen and I saw that no one else was up, it still being a few minutes before 6. I went right to the sink and started prepping the peculator, rubbing my eyes and yawning. Arnold sat Phil down into his high chair and started getting out the milk and oatmeal. Our son points at The Journal that my husband put on the table. As soon as Arnold can, he grabs it, opening to the last page he was on.

"See that there? Thats San Lorenzo! The place were your grandparents went! They went because..." his voice fades away as I turn the old radio to the local news networks as I sip my coffee. I try to keep the sound low, but I know it's soon to bother my sweet husband no matter what decibel level.

"Helga can you please turn that guy off? He's worse then your father!"

"I know! But I have to listen today. He's been really going off the rails about the new Hillwood Health care plan for the underemployed. Normally I'm all for privatized health-care, but this guys seems a little extreme. I mean come on, Bucko! Get with the program already!" Arnold rolls his eyes, hearing this one too many times. So I stop talking and listen, the station determinately braking through the crackled static.

"And I'll tell you something folks, this problem won't go away! We can't sip our lattes and hope the government will get it right, OH NO! Not with this socialist, give-something-for-nothing guy! It's going to be a COLD day in hell before I let my government choose the best health-care for me, and trust me folks, it's going that way. It may start with a little help for the needy, but it will get bigger! There's more after the break, you are listing WHBN: The Hillwood Bradcasting Network." More static came through before station broke in with the morning news.

"It's 6AM on October 5th. Another homeless man were found dead yesterday night from an undetermined illness. Like the other two victims the man had appeared to be sleeping on a park bench when he died suddenly. 'I had never seen anything like it,' reported park official M. Shuemen who was on watch, 'I tried to get him up, but he would not budge. I was about to call the cops when he just...died.'" Suddenly Arnold dashed out of his seat and turned up the radio to a more audible volume. He pointed his ears to it, eyes going wide as the newsman's voice continued, "Hospital doctors are baffled on the apparent causes of the disease but remain positive that it shows no signs of being contagious. They do caution, however, to continue washing hands when in public until more information is gathered. In other news..."

He quickly grabbed The Journal and flipped it's pages wildly in search of something I didn't get. My mind cranked at full speed with him, trying to figure out what this all means.

"There!" Arnold blurted, "See?" he was pointing to a line of scribble that looked barley readable. I bent over with my still decaffeinated eyes, confused at what he saw.

"It's the sleeping sickness! I just KNOW it is! See? Right there my father writes about how it makes the Green-eyes get unbearably tired before death!"

"But I thought your parents never met the Green-Eyes. How could he have know that?" I asked, getting uneasy, "I mean, all you've ever ever read to me was the that the sleeping sickness ran rampant, and that your parents discovered a cure."

"But it's CALLED The Sleeping Sickness, Helga, what else could that sickness do?" Arnold says, his voice now shaky and excited. His hands moved rapidly and for a second I thought he would rocket right off the kitchen floor. "We have to wake grandpa and grandma! They have to know about this! This could be a clue! This way could be way to them!" He was about to bolt for the stares when I snagged a corner of his pajamas.

"Whoa, slow down a moment..." I moved my hands to his shoulders, preparing to hug him. "I don't think we can assume this illness is THE Sleeping Sickness just because they seem the same. I mean, come on! If this IS the one your parents cured then how it did spread from South America to here?"

"Plus," I sadistically added, unable to shut up my mouth that should have stopped talking words ago, "Lets say this IS the sickness and IT HAD traveled. Your parents either did a terrible job of curing it, or didn't really cure it all. Face it, it's just an odd coincidence." Arnold let go of me, stepping back some as my evil words settled over him, his face slacking when the excited moment left him.

"I guess you're right," he sighed deeply, his head lowering in utter sadness, "I just...wanted to see my mom and dad again. Every year with out fail, no matter how old I get I ALWAYS think...maybe this will be the year...maybe THIS will be the year my parents can meet you and their grandson." My husband turned away from me, his voice barley able to crackle past his now frail lips, "I'm going to get dressed. Please watch Phil for me..."


	2. 10:30AM

10:30

"I had never seen him this sad Pheebs. The moment I started to doubt him he shut down on me." I said as I rest my head on the arm of Phoebe's living room wing-chair, eyeing my best friend who looked like she was about to pop, her belly far out in front of her. Phoebe listened intently, sometimes wincing her eyes. I could not tell if it was because of what I said, or how hurt she was for my husband.

"Why must I torment the one I love with such harsh words! WHY? What's so terrible about letting him think he might see his parents again!" I buried my head into my hands, suddenly feeling like I was in 4th grade all over again. Only this time I was not just teasing the man I loved, I was dashing away his dreams.

"Well Helga," Phoebe started, adjusting herself on the couch to get more comfortable, " I have to admit that it would be pretty surprising if the two things were connected. I mean, lets look at the facts. 1) The journal, as you remember it, never did mention exactly what the illness's symptoms where. 2) There is little chance that it traveled here. If the Green Eyes are as secretive as The Journal says, then I don't think they'd want to leave their little village. Unless his parents had contact with the Green Eyes, there is NO WAY the Sleeping Sickness could have spread here. Though..." she pausees, gripping her hands over her belly, "You could have presented your doubts in a nicer way."

"Yea..." I said, lowering my head in shame. Suddenly Phoebe shot up, her eyes going so wide I thought she'd scream.

"Whoa! Are you ok?" I ask.

"Fine," she breathed, the sound punching through her mouth fast. In a second I grab my phone and try to find hair-boys number, just in case. "No need to worry Helga, really, this is just practise pains. You remember them."

"Yea but Phoebe,"

"Trust me, I still have a week left. Just keep talking, I'm fine." The way she shakes her yes only worries me further, giving me the feeling that she's trying to convince herself more then me. But I don't show panic, I just continue talking.

"I guess I feel like...I mean...we always..." My best friend shifts again, this time lying down completely on the couch. She lays her hands on the highest part of her baby-bump, folding them. I try to speak but can't, too engrossed in what Pheebs looks like, lying in that funeral position. Sweat starts breaking through her forehead and I know she can't be fine.

"You sure you're ok? " I ask worriedly.

"uh-huh...I-OW!" she bolts right up, clutching her stomach wildly with her hands. Her body tenses up quickly before relaxing a long moment later. "Call Gerald," she orders thorough long gasps of air, "This might be it!"


	3. 11:00AM

11:30

"Hello, you've reached DJ Magic G at the precise moment he's rock'en the airwaves at cool 83.3 Tune in for the beats or wait for the beep* I growl at the phone, hating that this is the FIFTH call with no answer. We are in the car now, me driving like a crazy person to get the hospital and Phoebe in back huffing out more air then a steamboat.

"HELGA!" she cries, "SLOW DOWN! IT HURTS!"

"I'm SORRY!" I say for the billionth time. I look forward, seeing a huge mess of traffic spilling out in front of me. "HEY BUCKO! WATCH IT!" I scream out the window, "BABY ON BOARD HERE!"

"Stop Yelling! You're stressing me out!"

"Do you want to get there or NOT!" I say, laying on the horn. It blares around us, Pheebs crying at its harshness. "Shit! Sorry, So sorry! SHIT SHIT!" I try the phone again, still getting that insipid message. In my anger I almost throw it at the upcoming cars, but don't, knowing that we'd either get pulled over, or finally get Gerald. Then, in a sudden flash I realize that he must be on the air and NOT near his phone. So, I turn the radio to his station and listen for him as we come to a stoplight.

"You're listing to DJ Magic G at Cool 83.3 It's the bottom of the hour and you know what that means? That's right ladies and Gents: It's request the Best! Just call ME the G at 555-COOL!" I dial.

"Yo Tall-Hair-Boy! I got a request for you: How bout keep your FUCKING phone close when your wife's about to pop out your kid!" I scream, the sound crackling some as it goes through my phone to the car speakers.

"What? What's going on?" he asks, loosing his smoothness.

"Why don't you listen to find out!" I point the phone to the backseat.

"Oh Gerald!" Phoebe whines weakly, "it's happening, right now!" She grunts, the pain obviously getting worse. I step on the gas when the light greens forward, the car screeching through traffic.

"I don't know about you, but that bun's sure dinging to come out."

"Put her back on! I have to talk to her!" I hand the phone to my best friend who is now drenched in sweat. I don't pay attention to what she says, the radio now off so I can focus on the clusterfuck in front of me. Soon the cars split off to their exists and I am MORE the happy to have easy ride again. The hospital sign zips close to us and my whole body relaxes, my knuckles changing from stressed white to calm pink.

"Almost there Pheebs. Hows it going back there?"

"Better," she sighs, "He's going to try get someone to fill in so he can leave soon."

"Thank god!" I say turning into the hospital drop off point. I grab my coat and reach for Phoebe's door when she blurts. "Oh No! I forgot to call my Doctor!"

"Criminy, NOW you remember that?" I bend down to help when she stops me, letting me know by her flushed face and quivering palm that she''s waiting for the current contraction to end. She rises slowly when it does and I finally see how scared she looks. Her eyes are still wide and her hair's matted down with perspiration, nature doing it's job of being a real bitch.

"Helga," she says quietly when we reach the entrance, her voice barely squeaking out, "I'm scared..." I squeeze her hand, knowing that's all I can do, not being Gerald, I mean.

"You've seen this a million times Pheeb's. You know the precess better then anyone."

"Yea, but...knowing it and experiencing it are two entirely different things."


	4. 12:30PM

12:30PM

Phoebe's puffing along like a train engine, breathing in and out rhythmically as I rub my hand in circles around her erupting belly. It was the oddest thing I ever saw. My best friend was totally scared, and for a moment while she checked herself in I toyed with the idea of screaming at tall-hair-boy on the air again. But then, before I even dialed she calmed down. Mr. Simmons...(ahem) _Nurse_ Simmons joins the scene and directs us to her room he booked the_ moment_ word got out that she was pregnant.

"I think this can work," she said as she got into bed. "I think I can do this." When the fetal monitor got hooked up she let out a huge sigh, I guess taking note of the warped heart beat sound. I don't care who you are, but that shit calms you.

"Am I doing this right?" I say nervously, slowing my rub.

"Yes.." she breathes, "You're fine. Just keep going." She continues to chug along, little moans escaping her mouth when nature slows it's crank. Nurse Simmons comes by with a wet towel and dabs her head with one hand while feeding ice chips with the other. "These are amazing!" she munches, "Now I know why my patients keep asking for them."

"I ate mine like chips," I say, "They really did the trick."

"I totally forgot that Helga!" Simmons smiles as he wets the cloth again, "You sure did put'em away."

"The funny thing is that I know the reason why the ice works. We need the water for hydration and to cool off. But..this is the first I get to SEE why ice works." She giggles happily, then tightens back up with another contraction, her breathing more erratic. I step up my rubbing but it does nothing to elevate the apparent pain that's spreading through her.

"Want me to call Gerald again?"

"NoooooOH MY GOD WHERE IS HE!" she screeches. I dial.

"Gonna GET here or what!"

"In the hall," he says, "I can't find the room. They said it was-wait-I see you." He clicks off and comes dashing in. I move to the other side of the bed so Gerald has more room. He gets close to his wife, taking her hand that's been waiting for his the instant we got here. Her lips part some in effort to speak, but more train puffing comes out instead.

"I'm so... glad you... made it," Phoebe says, trying to sit up, "Hear...That...It's...The...Heartbeat!"

"Kinda neat huh?" I say.

"It's barely even there!"

"Trust me, in a few moments you'll KNOW it's there." Right on queue my best friend tenses up, grabbing the life out of her hubby. He holds on fast, not moving a beat through what could be the most hurtful hand-clamp of his life.

"Hey, I need some coffee. Anybody want anything?" Phoebe holds up her ice cup. I grab it and wink at her before sprinting out to the cafeteria.

With coffee in hand I dial Arnold, realizing that I should have called him eons ago.

"Hey..." he answers, voice dragging on so slowly that I know he's messaging his temples.

"So, I'm drinking the shittiest hospital coffee in the world. Wanna know why?" I beam.

"Sure...whatever..."

"Are you ok?"

"Fine, dandy."

"You don't sound fine Arnold."

"Well sorry. I guess I'm having a hard day. I can have one can't I? Or are you selfish enough to take them all for yourself!" Now, that hurt.

"No, take as many as you want! I was just calling you to say I'm in the hospital with our best friends, who, by the way, are about to become parents." He sucks in his breath at my last word, and I don't get what his deal is. "Listen, this should take a while and I need to get ice. I'll see you at home. Sorry about your day..." he clicks off first with a loud slam.


	5. 1:30 PM

1:30

Arnold's call really bummed me, but I don't want to think about it. Instead I rush the ice chips to Pheebs and sit with her, letting her husband take over her relaxation. A doctor I don't know, but they do, soon enters and I'm told to wait outside while she checks Phoebe's progress.

while I wait, the details of the call pass over my brain and I can't stop it from trying figure out something, a date of some sort. I pat my pockets for my Marlboro 100's when I remember I left them at home. Damn.

"Well she's sure tugging along. You can come back in now, if you like." Nurse Simmons says.

"In a sec."

"Oh, whats the matter? Getting a little too excited?" He smiles widely.

"Have you ever loved someone so much that you feel the need to crush them?" Simmons scratches his head a moment, trying to get what I mean. When he doesn't he grabs a seat next to me.

"Well, I...don't really know how to answer that Helga. Did something happen?"

"Arnold's mad at me. But it's more then that. He's totally... depressed."

"And Why do you think that is?"

"Because I MADE him depressed," I'm looking at my hands and wish I had a cig in it. There are too many wrinkles on them for my age, and I feel the need to mentally count them. "I'm starting to think that's ALL I'll ever do."

"I'm afraid I'm going to need more." I groan. He doesn't get it.

"See, this morning Arnold came across a clue to his parents, but I didn't see it. So I told him, and I mean I told him good. I took apart his logic so fast that by the end he just..." and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Arnold would never entertain wild ideas about his parents. He's too level headed for that. But when it's the anniversary of the DAY they left...he's almost willing to believe anything that could lead them to him. For one day a year he holds on to a boyish hope that he might see them again, and I snatched that away from him.

"Wow...I'm a bitch." Simmons tries to say something, but I stop him, face to cell.

"Listen," I start, leaving Arnold a message, "I'm sorry about this morning. I never meant to hurt you like that. I'm such a horrible person...I...if you really think there is something there then we can look into it. I love you Arnold Phillip Shortman! With all my heart!" And then suddenly, when the message beeps to an end I feel a strong urge to cry, the rims of my eyes burning. Every year, with out fail, my dear sweet husband gets reminded of what he'll never have.

He can read The Journal all he wants but it won't bring them closer to his doorstep, won't make up for all the stories they didn't tell him at bed time, won't make up for the boo-boos they didn't kiss better, and won't make up for the fact that he won't really know Miles and Stella beyond the thin frail pages of a book. And then just as suddenly, I am happy for the little details I can remember about my parents.

The way my father always smelled like the yurt, despite the fact that only went inside it once. Or how his teeth would grind after every bark at me, wheedling down his enamel ...the way my mother's breath ALWAYS had a hint of coconut rum to make her "Smoothie" story more real...how her drunken hugs felt like dead weight on me, pressing deeply on my skin. They have been horrible parents, but at least they were there.


	6. 3:30PM

3:30

Phoebe's resting belly down on the bed as her hair-top hubby rubs her back. Nurse Simmons is standing by while I take the seat closest to the door in case someone needs something. In an odd way this is nice. When I'm in here. in this room, I forget about this morning and can instead focus on the joy of my friends.

"You're doing good honey, almost through with this one," Gerald says softly. She lowers her head when the contraction slows, her tired breath showing more stress the before.

"How long has it been?" she croaks out.

"Two hours on the nose." Simmons responds.

"Really? Only two?"

"'Fraid so." She lets out a low rumble and then starts swearing in Japanese.

"Come on baby you need to relax!"

"You relax!" Phoebe quickly turns over, belly up and out, long wisps of frustrated air poking through her mouth. Garaldo tries to go for the belly rub, but she pats his hand away. "Not NOW!" He steps back, kind of unsure what to do or say, eyes getting scared.

"You know it's too early, but I can get your doctor to check you again, if you feel it's time." Simmons suggests.

"No," she sighs, "Just let me be a moment. Ok?" She adjusts herself so she's resting with her back slightly up, hand clamping down hard. Huge beads of sweat pour over my best friend as another one of natures stretches moves through her. She chugs along like before, puffing out a pain that can't be easy.

"Help me up!" she instructs Gerald, "I think I need to stand, get my water to break." Phoebe shoots out her hand for her hubby to take.

"Are you sure?" he asks, looking even more scared now.

"Just take my hand will you!" Cautiously he does, rising his wife slowly off the bed. Pheebs grunts some when she's finally standing and does not seem to stop until she starts pacing around the room. She walks as far as the fetal monitor cords allow, back and fourth from the window to the bed.

"Criminy! I'm getting dizzy just watching you!" I say, feeling my stomach churn for her, "doesn't that make you sick?"

"Not really, and in fact it's much better if I make my water break..." she pauses, breathing some, "On it's own because having someone else do... it can really hurt." Phoebe rests her body by the foot of the bed as she waits and I can tell by her clamped shut eyes that she really-really want something to happen. "Just be thankful that yours broke on it's own."

"Can I do anything to help?" Gerald asks.

"Not right-OH!" And there it was-a small gush of clear fluid. Before anyone could comment Phoebe was already getting into bed with hubby's help while gesturing for Simmons to get her doctor.

"On it!" he smiles, dashing out of the room. Phoebe put the covers all around her with one hand as she grabs Gerald's firmly with the other. She looks into his eyes, and I get the feeling like she needs a moment alone with him. But I can't find a reason to leave, mind blanking on how to ask.

"Oh Gerald," she weeps, "This really happening now. Once the...", grunt, " water breaks the labor..."

"Shhhh...It's ok. You don't need to explain.  
>"But I..."<p>

"Just relax now." And then thankfully hair-top turns to me and asks, "Um...mind givings us a moment?"

"I thought you'd never ask! I'm going to get some lunch. Reach my cell if you need anything."


	7. 4:00PM

4:00 

The lunchroom was mostly empty save for two male doctors who sat at a table near the food. They were crouched toward each other, talking so lightly I almost didn't hear them. When I got my BLT I sat near, really curious of what was so important that they had to whisper in an unfilled room.

"But if they cured then it how did the homeless man contact it?" Right away that perked my ears, remembering the recent news about illness that claimed three homeless bums. Gently, I tiled my chair so I could get more, hoping to hear enough for a column, and for Arnold.

"I don't know, but my guess is, they're carriers." Carriers? I tilt further back, getting more.

"Like MRCA?"

"Just like that! Stella and Miles must have been around it long enough to get a strain of the illness that doesn't effect them, but could effect others in poor health. Think of it! Most of Hillwood is relatively well. Most of us. But the few who aren't..." I could not ignore those names! I have to get more information. But how? If they had to be THIS secretive about it here, then there is no telling what internal, and external rules were being broken. They might loose their jobs just because they talked about it. And yet, I could not be so sure of that. What if they are just passing along what the whole hospital already knew.

"See, what really clinches it for me," the second doctor started again, "Is the dates of the deaths. They didn't start until AFTER the Shortman's got back a few weeks ago."

"Really?"

"Rumor has it that one of the customs agents handling their case was vary ill. Some sort of flue. So his immune system was low. But because the guy ran out of sick days, he couldn't get off. Now, he meets with them and BOOM! Next day he's dead. Fell asleep in his chair and never wakes up." My heart beat fast, the details too unreal for me. Not only did these two white coats piratically confirm what Arnold thought, they were giving away enough clues for me to know that my husbands parents were somewhere in this city! They could even be in this hospital right now!

I try to eek my chair back more, knowing that their next utterance could make or break Arnold's day.

"But Don, if that rumor's true then they would have been quarantined. So how did the disease spread?"

"Probably some bum hanging around the airport for handouts."

"Yea, you're right, I guess..." Suddenly there was a crack of some sort, the legs of my chair finally giving out. Before I could stop myself I fall, my back slamming hard on the ground. The two doctors are knocked out of their world and they look at me, confused.

"What is with the hospital chairs today!" I giggle, getting up. "You'd think with the whole country being so fat they'd want stronger seats! Hehe...well...I...ah...better being going then. Ta!" I turned as fast as I could and dart out, trying to ignore the cries of the gossiping M.D's behind me.


	8. 5:00PM

5:00

My breath is short, lungs aching for more air then they can get. I am pressed up against some wall, looking for a sign of what floor I'm on. I realize, seeing the number 4 on the far off corner, that I could have asked the rumor mills in white what was going on. I could have, if I really wanted, tell them that all the information would be submitted anonymously. The story could be out, and no one would know who leaked it. All the public WOULD see, and know, is that brave columnist Helga G. Shortman had gotten it.

But could I really go and talk to them now? They saw me running. That's not a good sign. I could be trouble to them. Or worse yet, I could be just the ear they wanted, someone to tell information that's so far off the record that it won't even reach my notebook that I always carry. If If I want to do this right, I have to find another source to confirm what I heard. Someone who is open and willing to talk. Maybe someone, like Simmons. My cell rings.

"Helga here!," I say.

"Where ARE you!" Gerald asks. He sounds scared, and from the screaming I hear in the background I know somethings wrong.

"Is Phoebe ok?"

"No, and I don't know what to do! She keeps screaming at me for some sort block thing"

"What about Smiley Simmons? Can't he help?"

"NO! After he left to get the Doctor he never came back!"

"Crap!' Phoebe cries louder, the harsh sound almost breaking my cell's speaker.

"Sit with her while I find him, will you?" Hair-top asks.

"You stay, I'll find him." I click off and zip toward the first nurse desk I can find. My heart beats fast for my best friend, her screaming still vibrating inside my ears. I dash around the halls hap-hazardly when I FINALLY see a Nurses Station.

"Hi, I'm looking for Nurse Simmons. He was helping my friend who's in room 335 when he left to grab her doctor and he has yet to come back."

"How long has it been?" a pudgy nurse asks. She rests her fat-ridden arms on the station desk, not even looking up from her paperwork.

"Does that even MATTER! My friend is in pain here!"

"Listen Blondie, this is a hospital, that means everyone who is here is in some sort of pain, so-"

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!" I yell, begging to bring out Ol' Betsy and the Five Avengers to the woman who would not even look UP at me.

"You can get as huffy as you want miss, but that won't change matters. Your friends doctor is most likely busy and could be getting to him or her right now." My eyes BURN with rage at the woman. How could she be SO FUCKING CALM when poor Pheebs is riving in aguish!

In an instant I saw myself lunging at her, beating her face bloody until I saw her do SOMETHING useful. But as I started to, I knew it would not help me at all. She's probably heard people complain like this all the the time when it's nothing, and to her, this could be nothing. Plus, she was not there to hear my best friends cries. Still...she could TRY to care.

"So thats it? I have to sit wait? What if she's about to die? Do we sit and wait then!"

"If it's that dire then you can press the HELP button on the headboard of each bed. It will reach the floors Nurses Station. Since your friend is not on this floor, it's not me, so goodbye!" I turn from her, begging to have the strength not to hit her, please, dear god do not let me beat the living shit out of the that fat woman. But as I make my way to Pheebs it's all I can think about, angry over the fact that she's hurting, and so is Arnold.


	9. 5:45PM

5:45

"Where the FUCK you been man!" I can hear Gerald bellowing from down the hall. Instinctively I run to it, not sure what I'll find. My heart beats even faster when I FINALLY reach the room. Nurse Simmons is plastered against the wall, Gerald pressing on his chest with a fierceness that truly scares the poor man. Simmons tries to speak, but can't, the air locked out of him.

"What is WRONG with you!" I say, tearing Gerald off Nurse Simmons.

"ME? HE'S THE ONE WHO LEFT!"

"Oh, like you got here so fast?

"HEY! I HAD to find someone to take my show! I can't just leave!"

"So your wife's screaming in pain and YOU can't LEAVE until you find someone ELSE? Just put it SHUFFLE and GET HERE!"

"It's not iTUNES Dammit! There's a lot of expensive equipment!"

"Yea Yea..."

"Oh shut up you drunk!

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!"

"GUYS!" Phoebe screeches as the fetal monitor beeps wildly. The sound punches through our fight and we both look at a trembling Pheebs who is on the verge of crying. "I think something's wrong," she whimpers, tears blotching up her face, "I can't feel it moving."

"Oh boy, oh-oh dear," Simmons sputters. He runs to check the monitor, studying the ongoing spit-out of paper that's piling on the floor. He thumbs it fast like a stock checker, but with more care and aim. Gerald is at his wife's side, seeing what he could to do to help while I stand by the door, hoping the doctor will come soon. She has to come to soon! She just has to!

"What I can do!" I panic, "I have to do SOMETHING! I can't just-" Thankfully the doctor bursts through the door. She makes a quick apology before pushing Simmons aside at the monitor. She looks at the papers with the same care, but with a more worried look on her face. I try to get a good look at the doctor, her crouched body making it hard. My best friend continues to cry out her worries, making everyone around her sick with fear.

"Ok," the doctor sighs when she stands up. She goes toward Pheeb's and puts her hand on her shoulder. She looks a few years older then Phoebe, long crows feet spreading out from the corner of her eyes. Her hair is a orange-brown color and it takes me a moment to see that she's Japaneses like her.

"I know this isn't the birth plan we talked about Phoene," she starts calmly, her voice as still as a surgeons hands, "But I'm getting worried that the baby might be in distress. The heartbeat is really low and you and I both know it's not a good sign. We could wait to see if it improves, but again, you and I both know that best course of action is an emergency c-section." Phoebe hugs herself and Gerald solemnly, trying not break down into a pile of tears. I stiffen in my seat, realizing for the first time tonight that something truly terrible could happen.

"Simmons, call for a OR and prep nurse stat!" He jumps to the task, giving me flashbacks of what he was like during Phil's birth. He was just as fast then as he is now, speaking in that same lingo I never could understand. He gives a thumbs up when he's done, winking.

"Are you sure we can't wait," Gerald asks, his eyes pleading with the white coat in front of him, "I mean, you said the heartbeat can improve right? I mean if we wait and then-"

"No Gerald, we...have to do this now. I've seen this too many times to know that..."  
>she starts sobbing lightly and I get up to hand her a tissue, wishing I could do more then just that. She dabs her eyes before continuing, "The sooner our son is out, the better."<p> 


	10. 6:00PM

6:00

I'm sitting in the waiting room staring at the floor next to Nurse Simmons. My eyes hurt from all the crying I don't want to do, from all the sobs I don't want to choke on. I lean over, pressing my hands on my aching head.

"Phoebe is going to be fine! It's a simple operation, you'll see," Simmons says patting my arm, "She'll be out here with Gerald holding up their contribution to the world in no time!" I can see his insipid beam through my forest of hair and I can't help but wish I could drink the image away. I want to take this moment and cloud it with anything I can get my hands on, something to stop this unfamiliar feeling that growling in the pit of my stomach.

"I know this is a long shot, but...you got any cigs?" I ask, still pressing my hands on my head.

"You know you're not allowed to smoke in here Helga. I mean the exhaled smoke alone has been shown to-"

"Yea yea, do you got'em or not!"

"Sorry, no."

"Fuck!" I stand up and start pacing the room, my body tingling with a powerful want to drink. I almost call Arnold, but I know that the moment he hears any hint of panic he'll assume the worst of me. He'll come rushing over and demand to know just what I've had in the last few hours. And right now, I don't need that. What I DO need are my Marlboro 100s and rum. Lots and lots of rum.

"Helga could you please sit down, your pacing is making me dizzy." I turn sharply toward Simmons, my eyes burning into his soul my eternal hate for the sap. I want him gone, I want him to leave this room so I can be alone with my thoughts, be alone with the fact that our little foursome of friends may loose someone we care about.

"I was just asking..." he whimpers, curling up on his chair. He puts up his hands to block himself from whatever evil he thinks I'll do. But as I try to continue my grueling glare I realize that out of all us, Gerald must be hurting the most. He's right there, standing by while doctors tare open his wife's insides, and he can do nothing to stop it. He can do nothing to end her pain, nothing to make sure his beloved Phoebe and son make it out alive. All he CAN do is watch in the dire hope that they do.

"Where is she!" a voice says, "Where is my Sager!" Phoebe's mother, a woman with medium orange hair barrels towards us, her arms out like she is about to take flight. A man with jet black hair and glasses follow. He walks somberly, his expression showing a deep but relaxed concern. Simmons regains composure and greets them.

"Please excuse our tardiness," Pheeb's father says with a bow, "We were in the fencing room and could not hear the phone. We arrived as soon as we could."

"Is my baby ok?" Mrs. Heyderdahl asks, "The message was not so clear..."

"She is going to be fine, great even!" Nurse Simmons smiles, "Come on, let me give you two grandparents the details."

"Oh Sugar! Thank you!" They all walk off, too happy to hear what they think will be good news. But they don't know, and the thought makes feel sick inside. Whatever was growling before grows bigger, grabbing more then just my stomach. I can feel it creeping all over me, taking with it any sanity I had left. If I don't get a drink soon, I may not make it through the next minute.

"Helga!" I look up and see Arnold rushing toward me. I stand up and go to him, not realizing how fast I'm running until my arms crash over his in a tight hug. He holds me, rubbing my back slowly.

"Oh my god!" he exclaims, "Your shaking!" I try to pull back so I can explain, but can't, knowing that the second I let go I'll bolt for the first bottle of booze I can find. I dig into his back with my hands, hoping that I don't do something stupid in the next few moments.

"Ow! Helga, your hurting me!"

"You have to help me Arnold," I shake, "I know you're going to hate it, but...I need it. Just one, I swear!"

"Whats gotten into you!" he asks, eyes suddenly worried. He takes me to the nearest chair and we sit, him watching me like he's scared, and me hating how upset I'm going to make him. I take a deep breath, dying to feel calmer.

"I don't know! I don't know! I just went to Pheeb's to talk and before I get two words out she's popping the kid and I'm here and your still all mad and I can't feel ANY better about that and THEN just when I'm about to forgot this morning I hear these two busy-body doctors YAMMERING on and on about how your parents might be around and I should have asked questions but instead I run like I always do and I found Phoebe is in pain and I can't help and now she's having a C-section and ALL I WANT IS ONE DRINK TO SHUT EVERYTHING UP!" My husband looks at me, eyes going wide with each rapid word I'm spitting out. He tries to make sense of it all, and I can see by his confused look that he can't.

"Ok Helga," Arnold starts slowly, using his therapist voice, "I'm going to ask you something and I do not want you to get mad." I nod my quivering head, so eager to ease whatever I'm feeling that I'm willing to try anything.

"Did you take any medication today you weren't supposed to?"

"Haven't you been LISTRING! This is ALL ME football head and it would not KILL you to get me something to STOP THIS!"

"Ok...lets just calm down."

" But I need a-"

"I know, I heard you!" Arnold says curtly. He turns his head away from me as thunder strikes outside. Tension starts to wash over me in waves, and I can't keep myself together. I stand up, starting to run away from the most horrible day of my life. I can feel myself crying as I dash, sad for the fact that I'm ruining everything.

"How can I do this?" I ask myself, "I was SO GOOD! Why do I feel like rum is the only thing that can help me..."

"STOP!" My heart beats fast as I look at him, one foot forward, another foot back. More Thunder cracks with lighting streaking the sky outside. Arnold walks towards me with a fierce look on his face, like he's about to slap drunk right out of me. "I have had enough of this! Don't you see how this hurts everyone? Don't you get that by returning to drinking you'll waste everything you've worked for, everything WE'VE worked for! Please Helga..." he begs, eyes sopping wet, "Today is the anniversary of the day I lost my parents. Don't make it the day I loose you too!"

His words freeze me, paralyzing my limbs with such depression that I can't force myself to move. And yet I've got too. I have got to make myself do SOMETHING. Turning slightly, I see Arnold standing, fists out at this sides like he's about to fight the ugly inside me.

But his eyes, oh eyes...they are just as kind as the first day he offered to shield my cold kindergarten body from the rain. I can still see him there, gently tilting his umbrella over to protect me. I remember the immense comfort I felt when it blocked the monsoon above, the way he smiled so brightly when he knew I was dry, and safe. I realize, looking at us now, that my husband is doing the exact same thing all over again, only this time it's not rain he's trying to shield me from, it's myself.

"I'm sorry," I weep softly, falling on my knees "I never meant to end up like this."

"I know," he sighs sadly, face sagging some. He bends over and grabs me, using his emotional umbrella to cover me, comfort me, and cradle me. My husband takes me deeply into arms, brushing his hands gingerly all over my back and hair. He pecks my cheeks, cleaning my tears away with his kisses.

"But I also know," Arnold whispers sweetly in my ear, "That you can be better then this. You don't know what's going on with Phoebe, and that's hard. It must be, if drinking your life away is the only option you see. But Helga, YOU HAVE to be strong for them. WE have to be strong for them. Just as we were all strong for you." I cry as Arnold talks, my tears damping his shirt. My sobs swallow the waiting room whole as I hold him, and I don't how much more I can heave out, body barley able to gather air. And then, when it becomes impossible, Gerald walks out to us.

"It's a boy," he brights quietly, "7 pounds, 5 ounces. They're sewing up Phoebe now. She did great, man..." he pauses as he takes in a huge bellow of air, his face crimps up "It was the most beautiful sight I ever saw. Everything was all bloody, and then...they just rose him out. They rose out my SON!" His voice crackles more then usual as he tries not to cry. He puts one hand up, adding, "Just give a minute guys," while fisting the other over his mouth.

"Is Phoebe really ok?" I ask, almost to myself.

"Better." My heart, along with every inch of my being, relaxes at that word. Arnold squeezes me close as we look at proud father before us, his expression a mixture of pure happiness and excitement.

"It's really a great feeling, isn't it Gerald," Arnold says.

"Man...it's amazing!" My husband puts out his thumbed fist and meets Gerald's, lingering in the touch as they both half-lid their eyes.

"Congratulations top-hair boy." I say, feeling extremely relieved for the first time all day.


	11. 7:00PM

7:00

I am SO tired. My body aches, the rims of my eyes aches, and every bone in my body creaks when I move. Arnold tried to convince me to see the baby later, but I refused, so sure that I need to see him now. After much arguing, he agrees, finally realizing how much he wants to see the little boy himself.

"Is this what you really want right now?" he asks again before we went in, "You...seemed to babble a lot of screwy things and I don't know if you're...you know...well enough to be in there..."

"Well enough? Is that code for drunk? I had NOTHING Arnold. You sure put a stop to that! And..." I sigh, "I am really glad. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't. I guess..."

Suddenly Gerald emerges from the room, smiling wider then any of us has ever seen.

"Guys," he beams, "There is someone I would like you meet." I got up from my chair, almost bolting forward to see the small thing that caused all this drama. Arnold took my hand, tugging it so I would slow down.

"Are you sure you guys want company now? We can always come back."

"Nah, Arnold, it's cool. Come on in!" he turns around and goes back. We follow, too excited for words. The room looks just like mine had, mostly white save for a few ugly colored chairs on either side of my best friend's bed. Phoebe tries to get up to greet us, but can't, obviously too tired.

"You shouldn't get up for us, we're fine." my husband says.

"But...Kyo..." Arnold and I look at each other, then at her, wondering who Kyo is. It occurred to us, seeing at our more then tired friend that labor had been really harsh on her. Phoebe's normally light and creamy skin was now pale, and her eyes look bloodshot. Her hair is frizzy, loose strands going everywhere, making me wonder if I looked this bad after Phil.

"Um, Phoebe, who's Kyo?"

"Oh...Kyo..." she croaked again, trying to get up. Gerald went to her right away and handed her some water before tucking her in.

"Don't babe, you need to rest this off."

"But...But.."

"Don't worry, I got it." He turned from and walked to the corner of the room where the bassinet was. Carefully, he lifted up his son, making sure to gently hold it out so we can see him. We were speechless the instant we saw him.

"Oh...my..." I say in total disbelief. He looks like a perfect mix of them, Phoebe's poker strait hair, and her eyes. But the skin tone and nose were all Gerald.

"Everyone, I would like you to meet Kyo Martin Johanssen" Gerald says proudly, "We thought our dad's names was the best way to honer them. That, and we didn't like anything else."

"Well, I think it''s a wonderful name. Don't you Helga?" Arnold asks. I smiled, starting to feel happy for our best friends. "Yea," I say, "None better." For a while no one said anything, we just stood there, watching the small boy sleep in the arms of his father. It was the sweetest sight we ever saw, the way Kyo's small mouth twitched about, the way he seemed so comfortable nestled in the crook of hair-top boy's arms. I glance over at Phoebe who's fast asleep, sawing wood with her snore.

Arnold put his hands around me, hugging me close as the weather continues to roar outside. And then, just when we thought this crazy day was finally drawing to a much needed close, October 5Th's other shoe dropped.

"There you are! We have been LOOKING for you!" I turn, remembering that voice from lunch. It was Don the gossiping doctor with his busy-body buddy in tow. "I'm afraid we need to talk." My husband looks at me, confused. I try to explain, but can't, the white coats dragging us off before I have the chance to.

They take us down a maze of halls, turning a zillion different ways so we don't know where we are. The more zips we make, the more scared I get, wondering what this all could mean. Neither of the doctors speak, they just lead on, careful not to make our odd travels noticeable.

"Sorry about that," Don says when we stop. He leads us into a small office that I assume is his. There are stacks of paper everywhere, files cabinets open, and two chairs opposite his desk. I see a long couch behind our seats as Arnold and I sit.

"My office is kind of out of the way, which in most cases is a pain, but for today might just be the room we need." We look at the two white coats, curious. I notice that Don, like his TV namesake has perfectly carved out hair while the other has tiny spikes of blond. They're both in their mid-thirties.

"I'm confused. Why are we here?" My husband asks.

"Sorry. I'm Don, and this is Ron and we work the quarantine unit of this hospital."

"We have one of those?"

"Not normally, but when circumstances warrant it." Ron stands by the desk as he shuffles through a pile of files, stopping only when he comes across two photos. He passes them to Don who nods, prompting Ron to pass the snapshots over to Arnold.

"Do you recognize either them?" Ron asks coolly. I glance at the pictures with my husband , knowing who they were at once: Miles and Stella. Judging from how young they are it must be their passport pictures. Oddly, they look little like the picture Arnold has framed on our desk at home. They're both cold, stoic, and less happy. But then again, so is everyone in their government photo.

"These are my parents. Miles and Stella Shortman."

"If asked, can you provide the documentation to prove that?"

"I think so."

"You think, or you know? We can't continue unless we are sure you're the person we're looking for."

"Yes, I can prove they are my parents."

"May I see some ID please? Drivers License will do." Don asks. Arnold complies, almost too willingly, like he has done this all before. I try to charge in to find out where this is going on, but my sweet Arnold's wallet is already out before I can. Ron takes the license and inspects it, nodding his approval as he hands it back.

"Is this your wife?" Don asks.

"Yes." I scoff, folding over my arms as I cross my legs.

"Name?"

"Ok, what is WITH all these questions? God, I feel like we'd be probed less my aliens."

"Helga!"

"Don't Helga me! You have NO idea what they want and you're going along with it!"

"Well MAYBE if we are quite they can tell us." Arnold says, getting madder now, face flushing red.

"Mr. and Mrs. Shortman, we do apologize for all this. I can assure you, once we are done you'll see why we had to be so formal. Now...here comes the difficult part." Don pauses, taking in a deep breath. "As I am sure you wife has told you, we do have some details concerning your parents. However, those details have changed gravely since we last spoke."

"Spoke? What do you mean spoke? You saw these people before?" Arnold asks, shooting his eyes at me. I try to keep calm, doing my best not freak out again.

"Sort of. I was getting lunch when I heard these blabbermouths talking. At first it seemed like nothing, but then your parents names came up and I had find out more."

"And when were you going to TELL me this?"

"Well, I tried to...earlier...but it would not have been much anyway. Right when they found me hearing in I ran."

"What? WHY?"

"Calm down Arnold! You're getting all freaky!"

"Only because my wife is keeping things from me! What else have you been keeping from me?"

"Nothing! Look, I ran because I thought they'd want to me to keep quite. I mean, lets say they did talk to me, I couldn't use any of that for my column, and I am sure they would have put some sort of legal gag on me so I couldn't talk."

"Even to your HUSBAND!"

"I don't know! I've never BEEN in this situation before!"

"Well let me give you a little hint, YOU ALWAYS TELL THINGS LIKE THIS TO ME!" He stands up, chest heaving in anger as his eyes flash blood red. I shake a little, finding his hot emotion so unsettling. I can feel his frustration with me burn off his body, a wave of heat reverberating out of everyone of his pours. I slightly glance my eyes at the two white coats in the hopes that they can do something to sooth the monster they created.

"Mr. Shortman, please...I know this is hard, but you have to keep calm here."

"Oh yea! And why should I? My drunk wife lies to me on the DAY my parents left and you all act like it was the right thing to do!"

"But Arnold I didn't mean to!"

"Didn't mean to what? To Lie? To Drink? To cause drama wherever you go! WHAT!" Don tries to move from behind his desk as Ron stays back, waving his hands fearfully as his colleague reaches the mad man beside me. Don manages to get close, almost touching skin before my homicidal husband pushes him off. I back away, totally scared for what my Arnold might do next.

"Ok Mr. Shortman," he starts slowly, "I understand that you are mad. I would be too. BUT if you could please sit down we can explain why it was in every ones best interest to keep quite." I look at him, stomach churning rapidly as I began to realize that my Arnold might try snap the man in half. He lunges for him, Don thankfully darting out of the way. I look on in complete horror.

"They're dead."

"WHAT?" Arnold lowers his arms, looking over at Ron. He seems confused, and less angry as the two words sink in some. His body relaxes and soon Don is able to get Arnold into his seat.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Shortman, but your parents passed away today."

"What? How?" Ron sighs heavily, lowering his head as he looks at the file in his hand. I feel something cold wash over us as the doctor prepares what could be his last words.

"I wish I didn't have to blurt it out like that. Me and Don wish we didn't have tell this to you. In fact, this whole hospital who knows about this wishes it were different. But it's not. And we have to face facts. See," he pauses, gathering air again, "Your parents arrived in Hillwood about three weeks ago. How, I am not so sure. They had no passports with them, and the only things they DID have were some old clothes and a vile of something. The customs agent working with them had find a way to permit them some sort of way to legally leave the airport, yet he died before he had the chance to give them the news."

"H-how...did he die?" Arnold asks, now completely down instead of raged. His face starts to twist and contort in sorrow and I know this will not end well.

"We don't know the exact illness that killed him, or lat least, we won't ever know. All we DO know is that as soon as word got out that the agent died, your parents insisted they be quarantined here without telling us why. Now, we normally would not do such a thing, but seeing as the customs agent only met with them prier to his death, we had to trust them. That and they both have the medical credentials to bypass hospital protocol. This was also why no one tried to get any sort of information on their supposed illness. We assumed, being who they were, that they would come up with something to control what they had and give us more info then. Oddly, they didn't. All we had to go on were the homeless deaths and what we observed when we brought them food. They were quarantined for two and a half weeks before passing away this afternoon. I'm sorry."

Arnold starts breathing heavy again, and for a second I thought he'd snap like before. Instead he lowers his head, breaking out in guttural-deep sobs, his whole body shattering over in an unfathomable sadness.

"This can't be happening!" he shouts between sobs, "This can't! I can't!" Carefully I pull my arms around him, cradling my dear sweet husband as I try to be strong. And then, as Arnold continues to break down I realize that I, for the first time ever, have to push away my pathetic problems to help the one man who ever has loved me deal with Hell.


	12. The Aftermath

Epilogue : October 6 and beyond.

He looks dead. His eyes are shut, his body is still, and his face is a mixture of linen white and groggy gray from all the crying. The only signs of life are the blood red rims of his eyes that can't seem to dry up, always wrapped in tears.

I'm walking with a plate of food, looking at our dark room. When was the last time we had the lights on? Was it yesterday? Or today? No, it must have been last week...I think. I see my depleted husband on the bed sleeping, hugging the blanket. Carefully I make my way to him and sit by his side.

"You have to eat something," I say softly, brushing his golden stalks away from his head. "It's been days." He does not move, intent on being a sideways statue. I try get in closer, hoping the smell of beef stew will get him to do something, anything. At this point I'd settle for a blink. The way he continuously sleeps reminds me too much of the sickness that started all this. And if Arnold does not get out of bed soon, it might be sickness that ends all this, and him.

"Please," I peg.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes you are. It's three days since I last saw you eat."

"Well thank you Nurse Helga. Are you going to tell me next when I last used the bathroom ? Or is that saved for when things get REALLY dire." I get up, shocked by his tone.

"We're all worried for you Arnold."

"So? We were all worried for you once, or did you forget that?"

"No, I didn't forget. I also didn't forget that I got better."

"Well la-de-da. Aren't you special." I throw down the tray of stew, not caring that it splatters our carpet.

"Alright that's it! I want my husband fucking back!" I throw off the sheets, exposing his top naked body. "YOU are going to get the FUCK UP and EAT! and I DO NOT CARE IF I HAVE FUCKING FORCE YOU!" I grab his arm and try to drag his heavy body to the door when he breaks free of my grip. The force of it knocks me on the floor, air thrusting out of my lungs when my back hits the carpet. I lay, gasping as my Arnold stands over me, mean faced like a charging bull. The way his eyes burn with anger scares me, and for the first time ever I am really fearful for my life.

"Arnold," I weep softly, "I...I..." I put my hands over my face, crying harshly at the monster my once sweet husband has morphed into. He would have never done this before. He would have never even let the thought cross his mind. But now he's totally different, the deep loss of his parents ruling over him like an imp.

I roll on my side, hands still covering my eyes when I see something glistening between the small cracks of my fingers. I recognize the label the second I see it: Bacardi Rum.

"Oh my god!" As much as body aches from the fall I scrabble up, going to the bottle of rum hidden under the desk. I grab it, the impact of the image nearly crashing me to the floor faster then Arnold did.

"Where the FUCK did this come form?" I ask, now just as angry as my husband.

"Like you don't know?"

"I have been sober for a year Arnold! You know damn well this shit is not mine!"

"Then I think you know whoes it is." I scoff, almost taring off the cap and downing it so I know my husband can't. But as I put my hand on it, I know that I'd only be asking for more trouble if I do. With me, one drink can never be on drink. But I'm scared to leave it here, not liking what this knew Arnold will do with it.

"When did you start this?" I ask, holding the bottle away from him. At first he does not speak, just stands there. But then, he moves closer, his eyes narrowing in on his glass prize in my hand.

"You are going to give it to me Helga. It may not be now, it may not be later, but you WILL hand that over. So lets cut the crap OK?"

"NO!" I throw the bottle down fast, smashing it. The shards go everywhere, booze sinking into everything around the spot where it lands. "I'm NOT going to let you become me! I love you WAY TOO MUCH for that!" And then, scared that he might do something drastic, I dash out of the room and down the stares, hoping he does not follow.

"Whats all the hubbub?" Grandpa asks when I reach the bottom of the stairs, "Heard some noise up there. Sounded like Elephants playing tennis!" My heart races as I think of what to say, not sure how to put it all together. It seemed so nightmarish, so...un-Arnold.

"I...Well...I...We.."

"Did Tex eat?"Gertie asks. She comes up behind grandpa holding the pot of stew. It amazes me that they can be so calm about this. Their son is dead, Arnold sleeps all the time and they act like nothing happened. It might as well just be another day, and yet...maybe not. I let the thought distract me, realizing that they must have already made peace with it. Long before now, long before today, they knew that their kids would never come home. They knew, deep in their hearts, that it was better to think of them dead then to live off empty hope.

Suddenly Little Phil crawls over to me, wriggling his hands to let me know he wants to be held.

"Up Mommy!" I gather him in my hands, legs starting to wobble some, "Daddy! There!" I quickly turn, a rush of fear washing over me as I imagine all the things my husband must want to do to me. But thankfully, oh so thankfully, Arnold is not there. Little Phil is just pointing to our room.

"Yes," I somehow manage to say, "Your daddy is in our room. But he's sleeping and we should not wake him."

"DADDY! WANT! DADDY!" Little Phil shouts and screams, nearly wriggling out of my hands as he tries to make way to his father. I pull my son close, slowly slide down the wall as the stress of the moment bends my legs.

"Whoa! Let me grab kiddo there," Grandpa says, getting Phil from my arms. I land on the floor with a thump, heart still racing, body still shaking, and brain still blanking on words. How can I begin to tell them what their grandson has become? How can I look them in the eye and say they might be loosing Arnold too.

"I...um...Can you watch Phil please, I...need...a moment."

"What happened up their Mother Bird? You look as white as sheet! Have some soup!" Gertie hands me a ladle-full, the sauce dripping over my clothes and for a second all I can see is my husbands hate-fulled face, the gleam in his eyes as I took away the rum, and the way our room spun around me as Arnold forced me to floor. Sharp pains stab my vertebrae and I don't know if I can move. The more I sit, the more it becomes clear that something must have been damaged. I raise my wrist, seeing for the first time just how bruised it is, splotches of deep blue making it's way around arm. And then...everything went black.


	13. Bruised

Bruised

I wake up on the living room couch. It must be night time...I think. I try look to up to find out, but can't, shooting back pains stapling me to the couch cushions. Rising my right hand I can see that it's still blue and getting bluer, with bits of black dotting around the bruise.

"So it wasn't a dream?" I sigh sadly.

"No I'm afraid not baby sister" someone says. I stiffen up as much as my sore back would allow, trying to use my limited sight to decipher who's voice it is. Fear starts curdling inside me when I can't see the person, body tingling over as I assume the worst.

"Please don't hurt me again!" I shriek softly, my voice barely able to leave my mouth.

"Hurt you? Why would I hurt you?" The woman says. Her sound trails off, walking somewhere as she adds, "I just wish I knew why you'd start that again little sis. You were doing so well!" The more this person talks the more I want the ability to move, I want to look at whoever it is and...what? My mind blanks again, filing up with head cracking pain.

"So sorry to bother you at home but I think you guys need to come over." Pause. "Yes. Not sure how much, but she does have a bruise on her wrist, and I think her back is out as well. Hm? Oh...I can check. Hold on." I hear a clank as the person puts down something, walking my way.

"Helga, can you move your hand for me?" I do, slightly, feeling snippets of something that fades when I rotate it. I turn my head some, finally seeing who the mystery person is: Olga. She is standing over me, face sagging some as she no doubt thinks the worst of me. I hate the way Olga's eyes are encased in sadness, the way they reflect her deepest regret for not seeing this coming. I can tell by her upside-down bowl of a frown just how disappointed she is in me, how she wishes beyond wish that things were different.

But they ARE! She may not see it, but I was not the one who caused this. I was not the one who drank every freaking LICK of booze in the house. And I'm getting the feeling that because I did once, no one will believe me. Not even my own sister.

"Can you sit up?" She asks, holding out her hand. I take it, gingerly lifting myself. I make it about half an inch before another back cracking stab takes hold of me, and I have to lie down again

Olga rushes over to the phone, chattering into it fast. "Wrist seems fine, but her back is really not good. I don't think she can-Oh...you're on the way? OH thank you! Thank You! I'll meet you out front."

"Don't worry baby sister!" she says as she returns to my side, "Help is on the way!" I look at her, focusing on her eyes as I gather enough energy to explain. I take in huge breaths and let them out evenly. Yet something stops me from forming the words. The only thing I can force my body to do is shake my head no.

"No? No what? What are you saying no to?" She asks, getting confused now.

"I... didn't... do this!"

"What?"

"I didn't...hurt myself..." I force out, breath exciting my lips in punches of air. I can feel my back crumbling over in freezing hurt, but I don't care, too determined to move on my side so I can look at my sister.

"You think...I drank...but...I DIDN'T!" my teeth are showing, words spitting out between the small gaps. The more I look at my sad faced sister the more angry I get. How can she assume I did this? How can she, after a solid year of sobriety, think that I would get drunk again?

Because I had.

Olga was not there to see it, but she knows. She knows that I once consumed every drop of rum in the house to quench what was consuming me: the darkest of dark depression, a complete feeling of worthlessness that I wore like a down coat in winter. The way I took in all the hate around me, how I just knew that by simply being alive I was the cause of everyone troubless.

I can remember, mired in the mess of it, how much I wanted to slip away, how much I wanted to lay the covers over me and fade into nothingness. If I could just have one last drink, I used to chant to myself, everything would be fine. Because then I would be too numb to feel.

Then again, laying on this couch with a hurting back, I wonder why would Arnold? Why would the happiest man in the cosmos break down so easily? Why would he ignore the throngs of people who love him just because he'll see never two he hardly remembers? Why, oh why, would a man who used to reason away any terrible thought surrender at first battle? He saved our town, he saved our boarding house, and he saved me. And yet he is not even trying to save himself.

"It's not fare," I croak out, "He's supposed to be the strong one. Not me." tears slime down my face, taking pieces of me with them as they go. I can feel my head soaking up, swallowed by a thousand little thoughts that beg for answers.

Olga's lips tremble for me, eyes welling up as she sees me cry. She may not understand what I mean, but she does understand that I'm hurting. And for the first time in a long time, I let her comfort me, I let my sister...be a big sister. She gets closer, softly putting her arms around me without moving my back.

"I'm so sorry Helga. I wish I knew what to do," Olga weeps.

"I think," I croak out again as I take her hand in mine, "That you're already doing it."

Phoebe rushes in a few moments later rubbing her cheeks. She takes off her coat and hat, still keeping her scarf on. She has a Red Cross medical bag with her.

"Ok," she says, "I got an EMT on call in case we need one. We most likely won't, but I wanted to be ready." It amazes me how high powered she is-how she zips about the room in perfect wound up motions despite the fact that she's just had a baby three weeks ago. I marvel at the way she's does not even look tired, face totally perked up. She rushes over to me, bag in hand and gently waves Olga out of the way.

"Little room please." My big sister backs away and lets my best friend get in. She gasps when she spots my wrist, her expressionless face quickly turning sad. "Oh Helga, why..." She sighs, eyes starting to weigh down in feeling as she looks at how hurt I am. Like Olga had, she asks me to move my hand around and I do, being sure to twist it many ways so she can see that it's not broken.

"Well, thank god it's just bruised. How is her back?"

"I tried to get her to sit up but she couldn't."

"Can you trying sitting again?" Phoebe asks me, "I have to see how bad your back is." I do, slowly inching my way up. Surprisingly, it does not hurt. There are no shooting pains, nothing when I easy myself up to face my sister and friend. All I can feel is a slight creak. Phoebe and Olga breathe in relief, Phebs pushing her medical bag of tricks away from her.

"Oh thank god. From the way you sounded on the phone I thought...well that does not matter now."

"Where's Little Phil?" I ask, crossing my legs. Why didn't I ask about him before? Whats wrong with me!

"Arnold's grandparents took him to the park. They thought that it was best he didn't see you..ya know...like this..."

"I'm...glad...I don't think...I...even want to. The way he looked at me..." Phoebe sits on the couch next to me, putting her hand on my shoulder.

"Arnold was not too happy with you huh?'

"No," I sigh.

"So what happened here Helga? I don't mean to make it sound so accusing, but...what started all this?" I look my best friend, not sure what to say. For a second I thought coming up with some bogus crap so I wouldn't have to deface our beloved Arnold. But was it really better for them to think I did this? What it would really be better to let them just assume? Sure, they knew I could pull something like this, HAD pulled something like this, but was that enough of a reason to save my husbands rep? The more the thought flies around in my mind, the more I don't know.

"Olga...how long was I out?" I ask.

"Oh, about a half an hour."

"Did you see Arnold?"

"Actually no. I thought he was working."

"No..." Suddenly a rush of panic pulses through me, and before I can explain myself I dash out of the living room and up the stairs. With our bedroom ladder still down I climb it fast, unsure of what I'd find. Surely he MUST have come down by now...there is no way he'd...

My eyes widen to the size of thanksgiving platters when I see him, air leaving me in a large gasp. Arnold is on the floor in the middle of our room, arms bent at his sides. His skin is almost white, his lips crackled over in puke. I zap to him fast, nearly fainting in total disbelief when I see the pools of blood by his right arm. Shards of glass stick out at his wrist and for a second I fear the worst.

"Arnold" I quiver, "Arnold? Are you in there! Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKE THE FUCK UP!" I try prodding him, panic rising when he does not respond to my hot jabs at his skin.

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!" I shout again, tears bursting out my eyes. Scared and full of the worst stomach churning dread I have ever had in my entire life I slap his face, hard and fast with my hands as I screech at the apex of my lungs. Arnold's head is as malleable as a Barbie doll's and I can't stop myself from pushing it around, doing anything my hands can to jolt him alive.

"What's going on baby sister?" Olga asks when she rushes behind me. I don't take my eyes off my husband, too scared that he'll slip away the MOMENT I do. I keep screaming at him, body crouched and frozen over his head when I look at his empty orbs, his limp neck, and his seemingly vacant body.

"GET PHOEBE! NOW!" I order between sobs. Olga just stands there, hands over mouth as she sees the same horrid scene I do. "WHAT THE HELL OLGA! GO!" She slowly backs away, not able to tare her face from what is in front of her.

But thankfully, OH SO THANFULLY Phoebe heard my cries and is suddenly at my side with her bag. If she's scared she does not show it, intent on taking in the image medically. I see her take out something, but can't decipher exactly what, my vision getting blurry. She flutters about my husband's body and it takes all my strength not to down the remaining booze in the house. But by the looks of my lifeless Arnold, there may be nothing left.

"I'm going to need an ambulance at the Sunset Arms Boarding house. Patient is unconscious but breathing. Cuts on his right wrist, some blood loss. Appeasers to have vomited..." My best friend chatters on her cell clearly, talking in that same medic monotone that she must use at work all day. I try to listen to her but can't, her words failing to sink in. They swirl around me as I think about all the happiness in this room that's been tainted by the spilt blood and mess.

"Please wake up," I weep softy, "PLEASE! ARNOLD PLEASE!" My face reddens as I wail, my eyes about to jump out their sockets with the immense amount of water they beg to let out. I stand there, watching through a misty veil as Phoebe pokes and prods at my husband, my Arnold, and my love. She moves her hands quickly as she tries to clean him up, taking out the bits of glass from his deep cut.

"Hello? Mother Bird? We're back! Is Tex up?" I shudder as I hear Gertie's voice, knowing that they can't see Arnold like this. I turn to Olga who's still in shock.

"You have to stall them!" I cry, "Don't let them come up here!"

"But I.."

"DON'T FUCK WITH ME OLGA! DO IT!" I scream, Old Betsy scraping her face. She runs out quick, too quick for me to see her reaction. I turn back to Arnold, stomach bubbling over when I see he's yet to show any signs of life. The smell of the room starts to get me, a heavy mix of iron, spoiled beef stew, and mess agitating my nose and soon I'm running to the trash to heave up my lunch.

My face burns hot as I yak and I have to steady myself with the sides of the can so I don't pass out again. "Oh God..." I shake between spews, "This is not real. This is not real. THIS IS NOT REAL!" But it was real, and there is nothing anyone could do to change that. Nothing anyone could do to change the sickening feeling that rose out of my self when I saw the medics roll away my Arnold Phillip Shortman to uncertainty.


	14. Wading

Wading

I still cannot believe how real this is. I'm sitting in the waiting room with everyone, not a sound escaping our mouths. The only one who has the gall to talk is my son who wails for his father every few seconds. His cries pass through me like background noise and at first it's like I can't hear them at all. But then he keeps at it, his volume raping my temples as he demands to know something I can barely understand myself.

"Where Daddy? Daddy!" he screeches. I groan, wondering how long I can stand to listen to this. How long can I stand to feel my son's pleas cut through me like a butcher's knife, nicking at my cold harsh center of a soul. Please, I beg him silently, stop. Please...stop. Please, shut UP!

I press my hands on my head as he continues in my lap, tugging at my loose strands of hair in the dire hopes I'd answer. I want to shake his hands away, I want to clutch my sons wrists and scream at him to be still. Mommy needs him to be still so she can fucking think!

My hands tingle with the need to smoke, the old familiar sensation of a cigarette turning on the veins in my left hand and it takes all my energy not run out on everyone.

"Are you ok baby sister?" Olga asks, "You don't look so well." I turn my head to face her in the chair next to me. Her hands are clasped together, pressed up to her lips. She smiles faintly, eyes dropping some. "Is your hand better at least?" I don't look at it, afraid I'll see more blue.

Phoebe walks towards us from down the hall, her eyes stuck on the floor. I try not to think of what that means, but can't, knowing that if she's making that kind of sad face now, it's not good. Gertie and and Grandpa look up from their laps as my best friend stands in front of us.

"Well," she shakes out, "He...Arnold..." Phoebe sighs at the chart before continuing solemnly, flipping through the pages for something as her shoulders sink to the tiles, "I..I just talked to his doctor and this is all I was told. He got 11 stitches to sew up his wound and is now being detoxed. As I am sure you remember Helga, that means taking in high amounts of Valium and other such benzodiazepines to help reduce the symptoms of drug and alcohol withdrawals. I don't know how much he drank, but I can tell you that if a man his age and his weight needed detox then it has to have been a lot. He is conscious, though it might be best to let him rest a while before you all go see him."

"What about the throwing up?" I ask.

"That's normal. It usually happens after a long black out."

"Black out?" Grandpa Phil raises a brow in confusion.

"When the body intakes large amounts of alcohol at one time the brain's long term memory is impaired, meaning Arnold may not have any memories of tonight, at all. My guess is, he blacked out a few hours before he fell."

"Oh..." I breath, glancing at my wrist. Will he remember this? Will he remember forcing me on the floor? Phoebe says he might not, and for his sake, I hope he does. Because I don't want to be the one to tell him. I don't want to be the one to explain the kind hurt he put on me. And yet...he has to know. No matter how bad it will make him feel, he has to know that this is not working.

As I think about the impending scene we have to face, Arnold laying in some bed all sewn up, I knew that we might not be able to take it. How can we? The one man who always seemed happier then everyone is now having vein loads of medicine pumped into him. The one man who always found the silver lining in the darkest clouds is now the darkest cloud himself, and I'm beginning to fear he can't shine himself out of it.

Little Phil has stopped crying and is now just looking at me, eyes still wet from his blubbers. My chest starts to fill up with tension as I gaze my son, and I can't help but feel terribly sad. Even though it would have more then bad if I drank myself here again, at least our son would have Arnold to tern to. At least he would have a kind father who could make him smile, make him laugh, and care for him in ways that I'm just starting to. But now who does he have? A drunk mother and a father who's hovering near death.

"I wish it were me," I sigh deeply between weeps, "I wish I were in that bed and not him." I let out another jagged breath, gently rocking my son. Suddenly everybody group-hugs me and for the first time all night I finally feel relaxed enough to cry. The urge to smoke subsides with their touch and even though I am dying to see my husband I know that I can wait. As long as I have them.

"Well, I should go. Gerald has been with Kyo all day..."

"But Phoebe, you can't I-"

"Helga, Take one look at me! Do I look well rested? Do I look like I have gotten ANY sleep in the past month! NO! And you're just sitting there like it's MY job to clean up your messes! Look, I'm sorry that Arnold pick up your way of dealing with life but I am NOT going to stand here and be your emotional maid anymore! This is YOUR problem so YOU clean it up!"

"But Pheebs I!"

"GOODNIGHT!" She turns harshly and storms out, leaving me to deal with her words that pound my head like the unwavering rain of outside. Great...So do we do now? Sit and wait? That might be fine for them, but not for me! For once in my life I am going to stop the disaster before it goes ANY further.

Full of new found rage I hand my son over to Grandpa Phil and storm down the hall, not even caring to hear what they have to say. I am going to end this, and I am going to end it now. And if he won't listen, then Ol' Besty will force HIM. Because if there is one thing I know, it's that my husband will never-ever live long enough to hurt me again.

I can feel my heart rushing as I scale the halls, my face burning hot. I don't know his room number, yet that does nothing to slow me down. My vision blurs some as the utter anger flushes through my veins and it takes all I have not to scream out where I am standing. I pass the nurses desk, trying my best to think about where he might be. And then, by some luck, I see him.

Arnold is in a room right after the nurses station. He is on the bed, his body almost taking up the whole mattress. I can see the IV bags pumping away, my Arnold's sweet self not even stirring while they work. His hands overlap each other on his right side, the stitches on his left side sticking out at me.

"Oh god..." I whisper to myself, suddenly less angry. I don't know how, or why, but the rage is not there. Instead, I feel...sad A huge gaping whole of melancholy rips open and soon my soul is sucked in. I look at him, my Arnold, my husband, and the father of my son, motionless on what may be his last bed, his...Deathbed. His hair is all crumpled, and his skin paler then those anorexic blood suckers all the girls scream over. I can't bare to stare, and yet...I can't pull back, the tare in my being getting larger at the thought of turning my head away.

"Is it true?" I ask myself, "Did I really do this to you? Did my drinking teach you this was the only way?" Tears start to pummel my face and I know that I have to go inside and see him. I have to sit by his bed like he did for me, and pray that he'll wake up, prey that we get through this without anymore harm. My hand reaches for the knob, the door slowly creaking open when I enter, eyes exploding with water as I take a seat next him.

"Please..." I eek out, "Please...live. I'm so sorry Arnold! I'm so sorry I did this to you!" I want to rush up and hug him, but I'm afraid my mangling will damage the stitches, so I sit there...watching the slow but steady rise and fall of his chest and wonder if each exhale will be his last. I keep waiting for it to still, somehow feeling that it can't possibly raise again.

But it does. By some grace of some god my Arnold's breath continues, up and down, in and out. All the while I wait. And wait...and wait...

And wait...and then...as I sit there in the ugly colored chair I realize what it must have been like for him to see me this way. How he must have watched my every twitch for signs of life, how he must have froze by my bed until I made the slightest move. It was easy being on his side then, because I was knocked cold by the booze, but now...I am crystal clear and wishing I wasn't.

I turn and see Grandpa Phil standing by me near the door. His face is as damp as mine, eyes glossing over. He does not talk, just stands by and watches our Arnold slumber through his own personal purgatory, the waiting room OF waiting rooms. If only I didn't drive him here...

"I know what you're thinking," I sniffle, not even daring to look up, "So just say it!"

Oddly, he stays quite. He takes the seat next me, grabbing my hand with his. I know he wants to blame for me this, why isn't he? Why is he so...

"Do you remember the parents day competition?" What?

"So?"

"He didn't want to compete. He said that...while we were great grandparents, we could never be his parents. Try as we like, we could never be his mom and dad. And know Helga, we thought he could handle it. After I talked to him that night I was sure he'd done what he always did. I was sure he figured out a way to be ok, like he always had. But seeing him now, years later, it's clear to me that Arnold is still a boy in many ways. A boy that...can't get what should be taken for granted."

Grandpa's voice lowers with his head and I wonder how much of this he can take. The way he rests his arms on his knees, the room's light somehow focusing right on him shows me that he can't live for long if things like this keep happening. And yet..can we stop it? Can we somehow take the sour hand life dealt and make them better? Or is this all we get, the divine dealer fresh out of new cards?

Suddenly, after what seems like eons of waiting Arnold moves. It's not a huge move, just a clamping of his eyelids. But it's enough, our hearts leaping into our chests the second a particle of his skin twitches. I can sense we both want to jump at him, to bound to his side and find out how well he is, yet we stay back, watching him slowly but surely wake up.

"What..." He's TALKING! Arnold is talking! More tears shatter their way through my trembling body and I know that I have to stop myself from being too excited. He only said one word.

"Why...am I..." he starts to lift himself up to sit, but I stop him.

"Don't. Just..."

"What happened here...the last I...OW..." he closes his eyes, pressing them deep into his skull. I watch his expression intently, trying hard to figure out how much of it he remembers. My wrist starts to tingle with the fear that I have to show it to him, my other hand covering the darkening bruises.

"My...My head really hurts."

"Want me to get the nurse there Shortman?" he clamps his eyes shut again.

"No...not until I...No...not yet...Helga?"

"Yes?"

"Did I...What did...I mean...did you...or did I..." I lift up the bruised hand so he can see it, saying nothing while he drinks it all in. I don't know why, but something tells me to keep it still, afraid it might break into pieces with the slightest twitch.

"Who...who did that to you?"

"I was hoping you knew. Because the husband I know would never do this. The husband I know would be calm, cool, and collected. He would find a way to deal with his pain rationally by talking to his wife and NOT HITTING HER!"

"I hit you?"

"Well this sure ain't JAM Bucko!"

"I hit you?" I shove my bruise into his face, brow narrowing at him.

"Oh my god...Helga I'm so!"

"What! Sorry! You're so SORRY you shoved me to the ground, you're so SORRY you drank a years worth of rum...you're so SORRY that you made our sons life harder by becoming what I fight every day NOT to be!"

"Yes! I-"

"Save it!" I cry, chest heaving. I turn away from him, my limbs acting out on their own. They carry me out of the room and down the hall, not even turning my body back to see the expression on my Arnold's face. They just march me on while I cry, suddenly realizing that Arnold is more human that I ever wished him to be.


	15. Arnold's Turn

_"You've got to let me talk to her! I HAVE to talk to HER! OLGA PLEASE! PLEASE!"_

_"I'm sorry.I can't She said-"_

_"PLEASE!"_

_"I...you know I want to..but.." she tears up, "She's had made it vary clear that she won't come to the phone and..." Olga lowers her already soft voice, "She sounds scary Arnold. Like Daddy does when... I'm-I'm sorry, I have to go..."_

_Click._

That was weeks ago. Three weeks ago that my marriage ended with a single click. I stopped calling that night. I almost stopped breathing that night too, holding on to myself as Olga's hang up hung over me like a dark cloud. There are times, when I'm alone in my room that I can still hear it, the long CLICK sound biting at me, eating me up like Piranha on meat. It takes all I have not to heave myself off the rehab building.

My parents are dead...my wife won't speak to me...and I don't know when I'll see my son again. Sigh...I thought I learned my lesson. I thought, after sending Helga away...and mentally going away myself that I had LEARNED drinking is not the answer. I thought I had the good sense to see another way out. To use a less dirty tunnel to get to the light...God...I sound just like Helga.

When did I loose me? When did Arnold stop being Arnold and start being...someone else? Some angry guy who shoves around the people he loves? I treat children with fathers like these every day...I see the look in their faces as they open up to me, pleading me with their huge eyes and trembling lips for the kind of father they may never get. And I can't help but wonder if Little Phil will be next.

"Oh good you're UP!" She beams, bounding into the kitchen. "I have this GREAT southern biscuit recipe that I have been DYING to try! You'll love them, I just KNOW it!"

"Can we not..."

"Now I know you're going to say you're not hungry baby sis, but one bite of these little cuties and you'll GET hungry! You'll see! Trust me!" Olga dances to the fridge, gracefully opening it up to take out what she needs while I try not to gag. She's been like this every morning since I got here, leaping around the kitchen like she's had 5 of those energy shots before waking. It makes my stomach turn to watch.

And yet...I know why she's doing this, why she chooses to force feed me happiness. She has to. Otherwise reality sets in, and she has to deal with the fact that her "Baby Sisters" perfect marriage might be ending. It's almost like a fairy tale..perfect little blond girl falls for perfect little blond boy, marrying in the same field they used to play Baseball in.

Only...it was not so perfect. He had to be raised by his grandparents while she had practically had no parents, learning to live the shadow of her sister that WON'T. SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.

Olga knows now how it was for me. But there are times, like today apparently, when she reverts to her old self and forgets that while I grew up in the same house, I never had the same childhood. Not even close.

"Olga, I am TRYING to drink my coffee in peace. Can't I have ONE FUCKING second to myself before you start prancing around? Criminy, every morning with you is like going to fucking the ballet."

"I'm just trying to brighten things up..." I groan.

"Well who the hell asked you too!"

"No one! I just..thought that...with all the...you know...going on that maybe...you needed some cheering up." She stops whats shes doing and looks at me, her water wrapped eyes bubbling over, "I...hate that this is happening to you..."

"Yea well, just because you hate it, does not mean you understand it so STOP FUCKING TRYING AND LET ME BE! OK!" I slam my coffee cup on the counter and start walking out when Olga's tears break through. They start slow, but then rush their pace, her whole face red with emotion, clogging up with thoughts she's too scared to say. I roll my eyes for the billionth time that morning and walk to her.

"I'm sorry," I sigh,"I didn't mean to.."

"You think I don't know what it's like? You think I don't understand the pain you feel? It may not be the same situation Helga, but that does not mean it's any less hurtful. I trusted Mom and Dad just like you trusted Arnold, and now..." she takes a paper towel and dabs her face, doing her best to keep still, "You have to go on living with the harsh reality that they, and him, are meaner then you once thought. And no matter how much you want to, you can't go back. You can't change what you know. You can only change how you LIVE with what you know. And...for me...I have to try to be happy. Because if I don't, it only worsens the fact that I was never there..for you. That I neglected you as much as they had. And I want to make it right. So I am starting now, when we both, " Olga sobs, "still have a chance for something better."

I sigh. God dammit... she's right. I hate to admit it, but trying to be happy is much better then not. At least...for my son anyway. As much as this whole thing pains me, I don't want Little Phil to grow up with this kind of memory. Me, angry and yelling at everyone, and Arnold, in recovery and gone. It might ware me out, and it might feel silly, but maybe that's what real parents do, charge on in the face sole gripping depression for their kids. He's more then worth it.

"So you said something about biscuits?"

"Southern Biscuits..." I walk over to my older sister and hug her, oddly finding comfort in the embrace.

"Thank you." She smiles wide, her eyes drying a little.

"Welcome as always baby sister!"


	16. Golden Boy's Darkest Day

We are sitting in the visiting room drinking bad coffee. I can tell by the sunken look on her face that she's not happy. Yea, well..I'm not happy either. But I guess I can't really change that. I screwed up, and now...I have to live myself.

"Thanks...for...you know...coming out Phoebe."

"Of course I'd come to see you! What makes you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know..." I shrug...and honestly, I don't. Why would she willingly come out here? Why SHOULD she? I'm the guy that bruised her rest friend, I'm the guy who let everyone down by becoming the kind of person I hate. A man bent on hurting everyone including himself to avoid the pain.

"So have you talked to...since she..."

"No...I kinda gave up on that..."

"YOU WHAT!" Suddenly Phoebe shoots up in her chair, a long string of what could only be Japanese curses jutting out from under breath. "So you're going to give up, just like that?"

"I seem to remember a girl who wanted to give up school for a fart."

"You're bringing THAT up? I think you're forgetting that A) I was 9, and B) I'm Japanese. Our culture takes shame very seriously. But you, Arnold, YOU never quit. Not once...and just because of one bad event you're going throw away everything you had?"

"It's not like I WANT TO! I've tried Phoebe, I've really-really tried. And," I sigh, "She won't talk to me. I can leave a thousand messages and not a single one makes her want to call me back. Lets face it, she's not going to take me back and I can't make her."

Another string of curses.

"That is IT! I have had enough! This is not you! Sitting around and just...giving up? Is that's the Arnold I know? Is that same ARNOLD who saved our city! Who...who...helped his own wife through this? Who sits with every broken hearted child and hears them out...who..."

"THE ARNOLD YOU KNEW IS DEAD PHOEBE!" I shout, suddenly enraged, "The Arnold YOU knew was innocently happy without one fucking care in the world. He went around fixing every ones problems, being the good boy, theGOLDEN CHILD!" I stand up, legs pacing me around the room, "Sure, he was not perfect, but he tried to be, always believing that's what his parents wanted...that they would someday fly on top of the boarding house just to congratulate him on his valiant efforts. And know what Phoebe..you know what PHEBES! My parents are DEAD. Do you hear me? D-E-A-D!And if Helga doesn't want to deal with her little 'Orphan Boy' husband, then FINE! She won't have to." My whole body inflames with rage, mind instantly understanding my wife more then I want to.

"Arnold..what are you saying..." Phoebe trembles.

"SHUT UP!" My pace quickens, everything boiling inside me, evaporating my last particle of sanity. I have to do something...I have to make this go away, this has to go away. THIS HAS TO GO AWAY!

Before I can control myself I pace away from a terrified Phoebe, scaling the halls for something, ANYTHINGthat can dull me down, to mute my senses. All I want is to be to set free...of guilt...of psychological duty...of feeling like I can't just be...WHYcan't I...WHY am cursed to be this...

"Where are you going? Arnold!"

"Leave me alone! I just want to be alone!" I scream, shifting to another hallway. Doctors and nurses scatter a path, some trying stop me before realizing I'm too fast for them. I go beyond the nurses station, darting my head around until I find a door and mindlessly rush  
>through it, speeding up the flights of stairs until I reach the last door. It reads :ROOF ENTRANCE. PATIENTS NOT ALLOWED.<p>

The old Arnold would have stopped, paused, thought this through..but the new Arnold doesn't care, heavily fueled by a stiff mixture of fear and anger. I can almost feel the airy freedom in my hair, the lightness of it all wafting around my haloed head. A tear streaks my face when I burst through the door...the first of many to be shed over what I'm about to do.

"Why!" I shout at the ledge, "Why did you leave me! What was so important about the green eyes! HUH!" My heart races faster, moving my feet to the steep edge. "What about THESE green eyes! What about the green eyes that waited for you to come home! That sat up in bedEVERY October 5th wishing for you! Did you really hate being parents that MUCH that you had fly away from me! Well here...I'll make it easier for you.." Sobbing, I spread my arms and look down at the busy Hillwood streets below...just waiting for the air to take me away. Just TAKE ME, I scream inside myself. Take me away from myself. Maybe then things will be different.

"STOP!"I don't turn around, I only look down again as my body's emotions congeals inside me like a hard rock, begging me to jump. It knots over, forming a concrete ball that soon gives way to a gaping emptiness.

"DON'T DO THIS!"She shakes out.

"Don't do what, save everyone?" I weep between shattered breaths, "That's what you all wanted right? To have the glorious and wise Arnold fix all your problems? Well here I am...fixing the biggest problem you all had, ME!The Orphan boy..." my foot creeps forward some, the big toe hanging over the ledge. It won't be long now, I can feel it. Just a few moments more...

"By doing what? Ki-killing yourself? Is that what you really want to be remembered for?"

"Well it's better then being remembered as the drunk psychologist who beats his wife." I move my other foot closer, legs rushing with feeling as I see the tiny dots of people walking around. The wind picks up, flapping the fabric under my arms towards a more then scared Phoebe. She inches closer, but slowly, unsure of how real my intent is.

"If you end it now, then that's all you WILL be remembered for."

"Then maybe that's all I am..."

"Not to your son."

"Huh?"

"I know you hate that your parents left you Arnold, but if you jump...you'll be doing the exact same thing to your son, leaving! Only you won't have the chance to come back!"

Her words sting me a little, but I don't move, I can't move. I have to hang on, I HAVE to see this through...it's the only way...the only way to make sure I can't harm anyone ever again...

"Please Arnold!" she begs, "Please think of your son...do you really want him to grow up not knowing you? Do you really want him to think it's OK to leave your family if things get hard?" My heart upticks the speed as she talks, my whole body shacking dangerously. Part me wants starts to jump, my whole leg floating off the edge...while the other part firms itself to the tar, too afraid to move. Move already dammit!...just let me go...just let me go..

"Please Arnold...step back from the ledge..think about what you're about to do PLEASE!"

"I can't Phoebe, I JUST CAN'T"

"Yes you CAN! YES YOU CAN!"Phoebe screeches, her cries stinging my ears. I glance back at her, shocked at how emotionally stained her face is, how her hair is practically glued down by her tears. She sobs again, her mouth crackling into that horrible all-hope-is-lost pose and I can't help but feel sad that I caused it, sad that this is how I have to end my life.

"PLEASE ARNOLD," she begs again, "Don't let your grandparents raise another fatherless child. Don't give Helga a reason to drink...DON'T...DO THIS..."

"BUT I..I...I HAVE...I..."A small twinge of courage moves me forward again and for a second I think I might I do it, that I might take that one last step...that one last breath, that one last look at the world. I feel immensely free at the thought, a serge of electricity running through me as I imagine my failing to fly...my failing to float...and then...oddly enough... my failing to father. And in that instant when I see him without me, growing up alone and depressed I know... this is not how it has to end.

"Phoebe..I...I...NEED HELP! IT HURTS SO MUCH!"

"I know Arnold, "Phoebe says to me as she pulls me to the door, "I know..." And with that I collapse into my friends arms, finally exhausted enough to cry.


	17. Movie Night

**Olga can't stop squirming.** It's almost too funny. She keeps looking at the screen, then at me, wondering with her eyes if I've truly gone mental. I am DYING to laugh. But I don't want to wake Little who's FINALLY asleep. So I watch Olga as she watches the screen.

"What is that man in the wheelchair going to do with the speakers?" She asks, putting her hands up to shield her view. "I can't bare to look!"

See, it was my turn to pick the movie. Usually I go along with whatever chick flick Olga likes, but she INSISTED I choose for once. So I chose something I KNEW she'd never watch: A Clockwork Orange. We had just gotten to the part where the "Humble Narrator," Alex is about to "Snuff it out" I.E. kill himself, over Ludwig Van's Ninth Symphony when Olga curls up into a little ball. I smile.

I know it's mean to take joy in this, but I how can I not? Every little fleck of blood makes her jump ten feet in the air. What's not to like?  
>"Helga...how can..." she takes the remote and pauses it AGAIN before looking at me, Olga's eyes watering up for the billionth time that hour. "How can you stand to watch this? I mean..your husbands in..that place and...they could be...just like poor Alex...and...I..I just have to know..did they ever try to that kind of stuff with you? Because if they did I want you to know it's all right..you can talk about it with me..you can Baby Sister!"<p>

"Olga cut the sprinklers already! It's just a movie! Criminy! You'd think with all that fancy schooling you'd know NO ONE tries stuff like that anymore. All we did was sit around and talk about ourselves. And Besides, why should we act differently? He may be gone, but I'm sure as hell not!"

"Oh I know! I just don't understand how you can watch something so depressing. That poor Alex...wanting to...all because...Oh Helga are you SURE they never tried things like this with you?" I roll my eyes. But what I can do?

"Yes, Olga, I'm sure. Why don't you call Arnoldo the Loony yourself if you don't believe me."

"I just might. Someone ought to see how he is...anyway."

"Knock yourself out," I say dryly, eating another fistful of chips. She dabs her eyes and walks to the wall phone. I consider pressing play, but decide to wait, too eager to see what she'd do at the ending. HA! That is too good a show a to pass up!

"Phoebe?" she sniffles, "Well isn't this silly! I didn't even hear the phone ring! I was about to call you...Oh, yes, she's here, one moment please." She turns to me. "Helga? Phone for you." I get up and grab it, stepping into the kitchen a little.

"Phebes, you have GOT to see this! It's a riot! We're watching a Clockwork Orange and EVERY time something bad happens little miss Happy-"

"Helga...I...I need to tell you something. I'm not sure if you should be sitting or not."

"Criminy, whats with you! I was right in the middle of-"

"Arnold tried to kill himself today."

"WHAT!"

"Can you please come down here? I don't think I can tell you the-" The phone slips out of my hand and I don't don't try to catch it, my best friends words bellowing in my ears like Alex's infamous Ninth. It shivers over me and suddenly I know there's not a large enough drink in the world to make me OK. To make me fine, to rid me of the never ending shock that won't stop shooting through me like lightening. I stand there, trying my damnedest to not fall.

"Helga, are you alright?"

"Keys."

"What?"

"And coat. keys, and coat! NO! keys, coat, and CAR! Oh GOD! I need keys coat and car!" I put my hands over my lowered head and try to gather myself before my brain caves in. My big sister looks on in distress and I have to bark at her thee times till she moves.

"Can you drive?" she shakes out. I don't respond. Instead I snatch the keys and coat out of her hands and dart for her car, hoping this is nothing but a HUGE misunderstanding. This has to be. Arnold would never...he can't...I mean I...A zillion and one thoughts continue to thrash through my mind as I drive and soon I am so deep inside my head that I don't realize I'm speeding. Or Zig-zagging. All I can think about is how much I drove him to this, how much my addictions lead him down this darker then dark path.

And I pray. For the first time in my whole atheist life, I pray he makes it out OK. Because he has to.

*******

Phoebe can't stop shivering despite the heavy blanket she has on her shoulders. Hair stack is rubbing her back and shaking his head in shame. Yea, yea..I get it! It's all vary sad. The golden boy, Savior to all tries to rub himself out over me and now we have to clean up the mess, a mess that was mine from the start.

"I always knew he was a bold kid, but MAN!"

"I can't get that look out of my mind...it was like...like..." I take out a cig and light it.

"Like me, right? When I landed myself in here? If you're going to blame for this you might as have the eggs to say it."

"Can you please not smoke right now..."

"Well what the HELL else do you expect me to do? Knit! Criminy!" I take another puff, making sure to blow huge smoke rings "Ya know, anyone could say that YOU'RE the one who made him do it...coming in and trying to talk him into sobriety like he's some kid" I scoff. "Little miss Phoebe walks in and saves the day...all because she talked to him, how nice."

"Well at least I was HERE to talk to him. At least I CAME here to see how he was!"

"And that makes you better then me?" I yell, "All because you happen to be there when he tried to jump!" I stand up, more then angry. How could she say that! how can my best friend even THINK to say that! Doesn't she now? Doesn't she get it! Arnold HURT me! He took my heart and smashed on our rum soaked floor. And there was NO fucking way I can go back to that so easily.

"Well you'd better be glad I was here because weather you like it or not...Arnold, your HUSBAND was ready to jump...and if someone didn't talk to him, he would have."


	18. Gerald

**He would have.**My husband would have. Arnold, the man Hillwood has come to depend on could have jumped. And DIED! I can't get that thought out of my head. It's spinning around like Olga does in the morning, only it does not slow down, it does not pause..gaining speed with every damned revolution.

"I have to...excuse me," and before I'm aware of my body it carries me out the door, screaming everything I've got into the misty night air. "WHY! WHY HIM!" My fists shake up. "WHY!" And then my stomach joins in and I have hold my sides so I don't loose my dinner on the pavement. It's all I can do not rush into the nearest bar and drown myself. And yet...I can't, somehow chained to the front door of Hilwood's Medical Center.

And in the second, stomach begging to somersault out of me, I wished for the days when I treated Arnold like shit and he had no idea why. Because then it made sense, and I knew how to exist.

"YOU've got SOME nerve!" I turn and find hair boy walking outside, and he is NOT happy. He marches up behind me and stands, ready for something.

"Oh yea!" I shout through the queasiness. I take out my last cig and light it, getting ready to plume smoke rings right at him.  
>"If you think you can walk on in and accuse MY WIFE of this damage, then you've got another thing coming!"<p>

"And what's that?" I laugh between puffs, "ANOTHER foot of hair?" Something flashes over his face and soon he's ramming me to the concrete wall with his hands on my wrists. I try to break free from his crushing grip but he's too strong, his anger giving him all he needs to plaster my back in place.

"I am SO sick of you woman! All you do is sulk around, make snide comments, and yell at EVERYONE when you should be yelling yourself!"

"Oh fuck off Gerald," I grunt, "like you really know me."

"I know I don't LIKE you! And I don't think I EVER liked you. I only put UP with you because for some twisted reason Arnold and Phoebe can't get enough, always talking about your life, your shit...like the whole god dammed world turns just for you. Well I have news for you PATAKI...IT DOESN'T! And if you pull your sorry ass head of your butt you'd see that THIS is not even about you! THIS. IS .YOU! If you had ANY brains in that Neanderthal skull of yours you'd go back in there and realize that you are DAMN lucky Phoebe still talks to you...after what you did to her?" His grip gets tighter as his eyes zero in on me like a bull on a red flag, "After what you did to my boy? I aughtta slap the blond right off of you! But you know what...I'm not. Because I know deep down in that pathetic body of yours there is a girl mature enough to understand that we ALL have to come through for Arnold, just like he came through for us." He drops my wrists and backs away from me, brushing off dust and ashes.

"Come back in when you grow the fuck up. We'll be waiting," he sighs, trying to catch his breath, "But not for long."

"Gerald I..." My cigarette falls out of my lips as he walks inside, mouth hanging open in utter shock. He's right...he so right that it turns me inside out, that it makes me want to purge every bad thing about me until I have nothing left. I almost try, collapsing into a pile of sobs when nothing comes out. And then...just when I think my only option IS to drink myself gone, something inside tells me to get up, and face Phoebe, and FINALLY, after weeks of shutting him out, face Arnold.

Petrified and shaking I search myself for every last stand of strength and use it pull to pull myself up. The doors slide open with blinding florescent lights and I know that I have to walk through it to get to the other side.


	19. Afterword

**The stars dot** my navy view as an all too familiar French song whispers to me in the background. I hate how it affects me, how, after many months of trying I still cannot disconnect it from a better time. A time when I understood myself. A time when I understood her...a time when our love bonded us together like the thickest super glue on wood.

Things were so simple then. All we needed was a smile and a look, one hug under the covers to wash away our cares. I fold over another layer of blanket to stave off my perpetual chill, a thick cloud of cold that settled in once I got inside. I kept thinking, when I was walking the stark white halls with Phoebe's hand in mine, that this might be the last time I see her. I can't conjure why, or how. I can only feel the boulder of tension that screams trouble from the pit of my stomach.

"Are y-you going to call Grandpa," I asked her between childlike sobs.

"Not if you don't want me to." I nod.

"Just...Helga.." My friend smiled sweetly for a moment, then sighed into a deep frown before letting me go. I watched her talk to the nearest orderly, a skinny man about my age. He had a long ponytail and hippie facial hair, the kind that sticks out at all sides. He smiles at her and puts his hands on her shoulder as he no doubt said something comforting. When Phoebe broke away for the phone, he walked to the nurses desk and made his own call to the therapist on duty. To hopefully someone I didn't know.

"Hello, my name is Mark. Dr. N should be here soon, but I was thinking maybe we should hang in your room until she arrives. Cool?" I looked at him, wondering why I was I stuck with Mr. Woodstock. Why did I have to be stuck with anyone at all? I got off the ledge didn't I? I didn't jump, what more do these people want!

"Whatever," I groaned.

"Out of sight man, lets go!" And we've been in my room ever since, him sitting next me while I say nothing. He blurts things about the stars every now and then, but I don't listen. I just ignore it, hoping I can get this over with. So I can sleep tonight off and FINALLY get some peace. That's all I really wanted. Never ending Rest In Peace.

"Whose Helga?"

"What?"

"You keep mumbling her name, man. Like, all the time."

"So?"

"I donno, just thinking there's gotta be a story there ya know? I mean, I don't wanna pry or nothing cause of the whole roof thing, you know... But...just sounds like there's something there. Like one of those soap operas. I never got those, man My Old ladies all over'em..Watches ALL of them! Like this one..." I groan again, pressing my hands over my eyes.  
>"Can you please.."<p>

"Where they all can't remember nothing cause this juice they all drank...and some guys evil twin...or something comes in and..."

"Please...will you..."

"OH! WAIT! No! It was some dude who like, fell in love with this chick that belong to his father…even though his father was, like, really old. I'm talking 80s, man. Hair, EVERYWHERE but his head, man."  
>"SHUT UP! I DON'T CARE!"<p>

"Oh..Sorry man...I kinda babble a lot. It's like my thing. My sister says it's because I was a middle child and didn't-"

"Yo Cheech! Are you deaf! He said SHUT UP!" I turn and find Helga standing in my doorway. She walks up to Mike and glares at him, using a look I know all too well. "Or does Ol' BETSY and the FIVE AVENGERS have to do it for ya!" He glances up at her as he puts up his hands to cover himself.

"Hey man…it's c-cool," he squirms, "I'll uh…" he darts his head left and before Helga has a chance to move he's out the door, his shoes screeching skid-marks.

"So..." Helga says, "This is your...room." I lower my head, not sure what to say to that. Yes, this is my room. My room in rehab, my room in the building I almost jumped off of...I get it, OK. I FAILED. Why does she have to keep bringing that up? Can't she see that I'm in pain here? Can't she see that I'm tired? That I'm...waiting for her to say what everybody knows?

I turn my head away from her, facing the only lightness the world has been generous enough to give. They sparkle like her eyes on our wedding day, glistening in the bliss of our love. If only I had seen our future...If only I could have stopped myself from saying "I do," If only I could have pulled myself aside and said the truth: Your just a little Orphan boy who can't love anyone enough to not to hurt them.

"Looks like you have a nice view...mine was at the other end..."

"And!"

"Ok,what is with you Arnold?"

"What is WITH ME? WHAT IS WITH ME? You never visit, you never call...and the only time you even come OVER here is because I almost DIED! Do you know what it's like, DO YOU? To sit in the same place, day in an day out, just WISHING you'd get one last time to see your parents!" I stand up, enraged again. "Your parents might be fuck-ups but at least you HAVE parents,Helga! At least you HAVE someone to call Mom and Dad! At least you have a sister who cares. Who do I have? WHO. DO I. HAVE." My face puffs up with tears as I talk, eyes already wet. "I used to think it was you. Now...I am not so sure."

"Arnold, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying, if you want to end this, then FINE. End it. But at least you could tell me!"

"What makes you think I want to end this?"

"YOUR ABSENCE!" Helga steps back, her hands covering her mouth as plops down in a chair. She doesn't talk, softly crying at the floor with huge jags that swallow my ears whole. If this were last year I would go hug her. I would take her into my arms help her sob out the pain. But this is today, a day that stenches on forever, like my pitiful life. This is what you get Helga. This is the price you pay for being with me, and no matter what you can do, there are no refunds. And for once in my life, the complaint desk is closed.

"I'm only doing what you did to me, you know," she sobs, "So don't try to act like you were any better...and you want to know something else Football Head, I have someone to call Mom and Dad, but I don't have parents. Parents are supposed to love you, teach you, and show you the world for what it is, all the while making think you're just as good or better! What I got was a Mother who didn't love me at all, a father who taught me greed and a sister who never could see Bob and Merriam for who they really are. And YOUR sad?" She wipes of her face and stands, a rush of annoyance spreading over her face,

"What do you have to sad about? What is there cry over, really? Sure, your parents left you, but they had no other choice! If they didn't go then a whole nation of people would die and you'd be reason. You'd grow up with the guilt of being the ONE person your parents chose over saving tribes of people from death. And I bet, oh I bet our first born that you'd wonder if you were worth it. But the thing that gets me most about ALL of this! Is not that your overly emo, it's that you'll NEVER get to see their faults. From now until freaking forever Stella and Miles will be the two most generous people who gave THEIR lives so that someone else can live. And you'll never see them as anything more then that. They may be dead, Arnoldo, but at least they won't be able to disappoint you. Like you..." She sobs again, "have disappointed me."

Helga collapses again and for a second I think I can go to her, feeling the want to move in my legs. But then something I can't identify clamps my feet down, holding my bare souls to the frigid floor. At first it's like a snake crawling around the tops of my feet, then it smoothes out as it adds pressure to still my stems, and I can't help but feel stuck in place.

"All my life," she starts again, "I went around believing that you were better then everyone. That you were a god among men because you could resist temptation with your childlike purity. That you could be wise enough to hold back...that...because of what was so innate to you...you could never hurt me. You could never be like genetic molds I was made from. And now...after all the drinking and bruises...I see that you are not above them, but right beside them, hurting me with the one thing I never imagined you'd posses: human nature," Helga sighs largely, gathering herself as she stands again.

"And I have to say..that...maybe... you never were the Golden Boy. Maybe you were simply a boy. A boy who hadn't had the chance to discover how terrible the world really is."  
>"Or maybe," I find myself adding with great relief, "I never WANTED to be the Golden Boy."<p>

"What?"

"Maybe I wanted to be like every other kid Helga, making mistakes, doing stupid things, partying...drinking...maybe I wanted to go through a day without having to help someone loose weight, or stop eating chocolate, or get over a fear. Maybe I wanted to go through life without the daunting pressure of being every one's savior. To feel like if they didn't go to me, they'd go to no one. And ya know, you talk about how I hurt you, I get that. But I never ASKED to be your savior Helga. I never ASKED to be ANY ONES Savior. All I did was offer you an umbrella ONCE and you, along with the whole damn town, took that to mean I'd be your neighborhood Jesus. And I'm sick of it! The Halo comes on NOW Helga. I am not your god and I don't WANT to be!"

"Ok," she says weakly, "you're right." My muscles relax suddenly and I go to her, putting myself all around my wife's trembling body. She cries into me, the gravity of it all sinking into her. I realize, rubbing her back softy, that I while I don't want to be a Holy Man and Deity, that does not mean I don't want to be a Husband and Dad.

"So what now?" She breathes.

"I don't know..."

"Do you... still want to...end us?" She takes her forehead and presses it up to mine with closed eyes.

"A few hours ago I wanted to end everything."

"And now?"

"Now..I'm not sure. But I do know that being with you is a start. Because when I hold you in my arms I feel better. I feel like me, like Arnold Philip Shortman."

"Oh ARNOLD!" she gasps, clutching me with everything she has, her lips reaching all sides of my face. We continue to embrace, our bodies linking up through rubs and touches. And then, just when I'm ready to physically make amends with my wife, Dr. N knocks on the door.

"Um Hello?" She says cautiously. I quickly stop myself, blushing redder then a ripe tomato.

"Oh..um...so sorry..I..well we...yea..." I rub the back of my head nervously and then turn my head to Helga. "I'll be right back."

"And I'll be right here, waiting for you," She smiles, her hands squeezing mine. I take one last look and then go with the Doctor, finally ready to work my way out of rehab.


	20. A Truthful Dream

**_"What is this place?"_**_ my younger self asks, looking at all the shelves of books. I could tell by the way he inspects the green walls and wooden floors that he wants to know our story. Our reason for being here. He glances at the shelves of books again, no doubt trying to read all the titles to find a connection._

_My heart beats fast as he works over the room and I find myself watching him as intently as he watches me, praying he'll not see the ugly truth about us. That he'll make up some happy explanation and move on. So I can wake up and do the same._

_"This," I sigh deeply, "Is a therapists office. Not yours from the practice, of course" I plop on the long couch, my tattered PJs and robe bunching up at my sides._

_"So I become a therapist?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Wait! You said this was not my office...so why are we here then?"_

_"Because of October 5th." Suddenly his eyes light up and he sits next to me, his excitement percolating about a million and one questions._

_"They came back? How? Did you go to San Lorenzo! And what about the class? Did they go too? Or was it just you and Grandpa? And what about the Sleeping Sickness? Did Mom and Dad cure it like they said they would? How about their friend, is he OK? Oh Man, I have so many questions! What is it like to have them home? Is it great? Did they go school with you to about their trips?" On and on he goes, asking more than I could ever think of in a single year...all the while a concrete knot hardening in the pit of me because I know I have to derail his gravy train of thoughts. It pains me to shut him up, but it's the only way I can get through this._

_"Come ON! Tell ME!" he begs, bouncing on the couch cushions, "I am DYING to know!" Dying. Heh. What an ironic choice of words.  
>"Ok, I'll tell you. But you have to promise me something, alright?"<em>

_"YES! ANYTHING! What?"_

_"Don't talk until I'm done. This is something you need to hear, and I think I'll get this out better if I know I have the time to. Ok?" He nods his head fast, almost snapping his neck in half. Man...is this gonna be hard. If I tried to off myself as an adult I can only imagine what my childhood self will do._

_"Well...they do come back," I start. Can I really do this? Is it right to do this? I try to start again, finding my tongue all sticky like it's been covered in peanut butter. My heart races even faster, and for a second I think about lying to him. I think about pulling some cheap crap out of my ass and letting it be. It's only a dream right? What harm could it do to lie?_

_But then...I look at my younger self's eager eyes and I know that I can't do that. I can't lie to him. Because I already have been for far too long._

_"They came back a few weeks ago. We are not sure how, or where exactly they have been all this time. All we know is that they arrived at the airport and met with a customs agent. Shortly after being allowed into Hillwood again they got sick, very sick. And being that they were exposed to the Sleeping Sickness they both felt it was safer for the whole town if they got quarantined. I was told that's not normal procedure, but since they had the knowledge and degrees to back it up, no one seconded guessed their judgement."_

_"Sadly..." I turn away from little me, little Arnold, finding it harder then hard to explain the rest. How can I do that? How can I crush his dreams so fast? It's not right! It's not fair! No one should go on with this kind of pain. So I don't. I just sit and let the whole scene wash over me as I try not do anything too drastic._

_"And!" he pleads, "Don't just stop there! Come on! TELL ME!" He tugs my robe, nearly tearing it off me and I know I have to continue...no matter how sad it is._

_"They didn't realize how sick they really were and..." I sob, "They died." Little Arnold stops tugging, completely still. "And Arnold...here is the part I'm not proud of. After hearing about their death I tried to sleep it off, believing that it could somehow change things...and when that didn't I turned to drinking. A LOT of drinking. I just...could not deal with them dead. I could not face the fact that they went off, saved San Lorenzo...only to come back to die. That was not how it was supposed to go! That is NOT how I wanted it to end! And so...I came here...to this room. A room in rehab."_

_"Rehab?"_

_"It's a place people go to stop their bad habits."_

_"Oh..." I look at him again, his sinking head tearing me up more then Mom and Dad's passing, more than the look on Phoebe's face when she begged me not to jump, and more then seeing Helga cry for me. Because in that football shaped head, I saw the face of a betrayed boy. A boy who saw and hated his future. And it was then I realized I could never be him again. No matter how much I want to, I can't go back to being the youthful kid who knew everything was going to be ok. Because everything wasn't._

_"Did you stop?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"Did you stop your bad habits?"_

_"Yes. But...and this is the tough part...my habits made life easy. When I drank I felt nothing, and when I stopped drinking I felt everything. So I...tried to make sure that...I would never feel anything ever again. By trying to jump off this building. Thankfully, Phoebe stopped me and got me to see something I never saw before. Arnold..." I take a deep breath and open my arms, ready to hug myself, "You don't have to be the town savior anymore. You don't have to run around and fix things."  
><em>  
>"That's when I usually wake up. Right before I hug him-er-I mean, me."<p>

"And what do you think this dream is trying to tell you?" Dr. Bliss asks. We are sitting in her office in the Hillwood Medical Center. I had been referred to her by Dr. N. Though, she never really told me why Bliss would be a better match. Only that it was in my best interest.

"Exactly what I figured out already. I don't have to be Jesus anymore. But if I know that, why do I keep dreaming it over and over?"

"Because it's been who you were for a very long time. You can't just chose to drop a part of your personality, Arnold. You have to work on that, daily. You of all people should know that."

"Why? Because I'm some god-sent shrink who's supposed to know it all?" Dr. Bliss sighs some, drooping her head. I look at how sad she gets and wonder if she ever made that kind of face to Helga. She must have, minus the crows feet and heavy amounts of concealer. At least, I think that's concealer.

"No, because of AA and Al-Anon. One Day At A Time Arnold, remember? You can't just expect everything to change overnight. Change takes time. You need to relax and adjust."

"But adjusting is all I seem to do."

"Welcome to humanity." I groan. Any chance on getting a refund?

"Listen," Dr. Bliss says as she puts down her pad and sits next to me, "I know this is awkward. For most of your adult life you have been the one with pad and pen, and now you're on the other side of that. It's not easy to get used to. Believe me. But that does not change the fact that you have to get used to it. And if I were you, I'd take this time to figure things out."

"Like what?"

"Like what you want to do. You seem pretty sure what you DON'T want to do. Now you can figure what you WANT to do."  
>I cock a brow. What I want to do? What DO I want to do? The more her words sank in the more I realized I had no clue.<p>

"Well, I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today Arnold. Same time next week?"

"Sure...I guess." She stands up puts her hand out. I stand and shake it before giving her that same Thank-You-Smile and leaving. I have to admit, there is something to her. I can't explain what, I just feel a little better after each visit. And it's something. A start.  
>The sun smacks me all over when I exit and I have squint to see Helga and Little Phil in the Packard.<p>

"Daddy!" He reaches his hands out to me, nearly busting out of his car seat.

"Please sit still Phil. You can play with your father later when get home." I get in next to my wife, trying to smile when I lightly kiss her. Buckling in, I feel her hands on my thigh.

"So...things are...good?"

"Getting there." I sigh. She smiles.

"Well, I guess thats better then nothing."

"Yea..." she rubs my thigh a little longer before grabbing my hand. I can tell she wants to say something else, but having Little Phil in the backseat stops her. I wink, trying my best to let her know that things are really ok. No need to worry anymore. At least, for now.  
>"Hey, are you guys getting hungry?" I ask.<p>

"I could eat. Chinese?"

"Sure. What do you say buddy? Want some Chinese?" He claps his hands happily and smiles. "Mynese! Mynese!" We giggle as Helga starts the car and I can't help but think...I'm gonna be ok. For the first time, in a long time I'm gonna to be ok.


End file.
